The Art of Breaking
by Anthem of the Lonely
Summary: Five people find themselves scattered throughout Amestris, given unpredictable powers for an unknown reason. The catch? They can barely stand each other, and only one of them is fully familiar with the universe. Of course, they end up accidentally screwing up the plotline, eventually causing dire consequences, because fate is cruel and cares for nobody, let alone the outsiders.
1. Set It Off

**Alternate Summary**: Bored of the same events occurring over and over again, the Truth decides to drag five unsuspecting people into Amestris, scatter them across the country, and watch the chaos that plays out. And the chaos that does occur is inevitable, seeing as these five teenagers have been gifted with strange powers that probably will end up killing them before anyone else gets the chance.

Part One: The Invitation

**Chapter One – Set It Off**

"_My main objective is to stand for what I believe; maybe hear the sounds of the guillotine."_

* * *

Damon Pythias

Blood fills my mouth, and I faintly wonder why before opening one eye to see if I can find out. This accomplishes nothing at all, because I can't see anything due to the fact that I'm face-down on the ground, which happens to feel like it's made of small jagged rocks that are cutting into my skin. That might explain the blood, I think, turning my face to one side so I can breathe without inhaling any pebbles.

Propping myself up onto my elbows, I look to my left and then to my right. It seems like I'm in the end of an alleyway at night.

How did I get here? I only remember going to bed, not wandering around and ending up here.

I pull myself upright, shaking my head, and turn to face the street when I see a silhouette of a man standing at the end of the alley.

"You're the Shock Alchemist, correct?" His voice is barely more than a whisper, yet it resonates in my mind, refusing to leave, as if I somehow have met him before, or know him, or at least his voice.

Squinting at him, I tilt my head and ask, "Who?"

He steps forward at the same time my eyes adjust to the dim light. Yellow coat, sunglasses, and dark – well, darkish, if I'm going to be accurate – skin. I don't need to see the scar on his face to know who he is.

"Oh," I say, regretting it as soon as I do. It isn't the best thing to say, especially at this time. So I decide to dig my grave even deeper by saying, "You're Scar."

"And you're the Shock Alchemist?" Scar repeats, tensing his hand.

It takes me a second to process what is happening. "No," I drawl, sounding very much like I am lying. "Uh, listen, I, um, I just want to be friends, okay?" What the _heck_ am I thinking? "Not fight."

He raises an eyebrow and stares at me, scowling his typical serial-killer scowl. "You're unusual for a State Alchemist, but you are one nonetheless." He starts walking towards me ominously. Very ominously, given that he's, you know, a _serial killer_.

I have the worst luck, don't I?

I back up at the same pace he's advancing. "Please think for a second before trying to blow my head up, since I'm not a State Alchemist. My name's Damon Pythias, I'm eighteen, and I'm not even an alchemist at all."

Of course, this doesn't even deter him; he keeps walking forward like the Juggernaut. I _really _don't want to have my head explode, so I keep backing up.

"Can you just hold on?" I gasp when I hit the wall, trying to decide what to do from here.

I had always thought Scar was a cool dude, but that was _after_ character development. Now, as he's trying to kill me, I'm not so sure. That does change my opinion of him.

Wait, if I can remember his fighting style, then I can learn how to combat it, or at least avoid dying as long as possible. He'll need to get in close to blow my face up, which will prove to be a problem, seeing as I have nowhere to run except for in his direction. If I do manage to get out of this alley, I'll have to avoid stairs and anything that could potentially fall, seeing as he tends to blow things up when he's chasing people.

I'm going to get murdered before I even spend five minutes here.

I take a deep breath before pushing myself off of the wall, using it to give myself enough force to run. As I do this, I realize two seconds in that it's one of the stupidest things I've ever done.

At least it confuses Scar for a fraction of a second, since he's probably wondering why the heck I would attempt to do such an idiotic thing. He throws his arm – the tattooed one – out directly in front of my head.

"Oh, _crap_–" I say when I see his intentions to blow up my face. There's no way at all to dodge it except for…

I trip and slam to the ground on my palms, propelled forward by the motion, and push myself upwards, running like my life depends on it, which it kind of does. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that he's following me, because the life of Damon Pythias is never easy.

Okay, he tends to kill in nearly-deserted places, unless the circumstances change. I just need to find a highly-populated area, preferably with people out at this time. Of course, I don't know how exactly to find the nearest place, so I'm left running from a serial killer, headed towards nowhere in particular.

He seems to be gaining on me, which is really annoying and very problematic, made more so by the fact that I can hear his alchemy as he blows up the building to his right. Well, I can tell what he was going to explode _as_ it explodes right above my head. This is a very unfortunate problem indeed.

I barely manage to fling myself out of the way as a huge section of brick careens straight at me. Even then, it still smashes into my forehead, causing me to obviously black out.

* * *

Opening my eyes, I see that I'm standing in an overwhelmingly white background that seems to go on for all of eternity. I'm not sure if this is better or worse than being chased by Scar.

"Why, aren't you quite the troublemaker?"

It's – it's the _thing_ with a name I can't remember to save my life. I glance around, trying to find the Gate it's always near, but it's not there, for some reason.

"Where's the Gate?"

"The Gate only appears to those who were born and live in this world, not yours. Since each person's individual gate allows them to perform alchemy – for those who are able to, of course – you won't be able to be an alchemist."

Staring at it, I ask, "Wait, what? I don't remember any of that happening in what I watched."

It – who I've decided to call Bull, since I can't recall its name – sighs loudly and shakes its head. "Oh, right, you don't know the ending. Where did you leave off again?"

I think for a moment and then say, "The zombie mannequins had just woken up and started to attack Ed and company, when Mustang came in."

"It's so annoying, having everything that happens here be a form of entertainment there," Bull says. "Anyways, it will be interesting, having a person who doesn't know the ending in Amestris along with someone who does."

"There's more than one person coming through?"

It nods. "There are five in total, you being the first, but you only know two of them. Numbers two and five won't have any idea where they are, while the fourth will have only watched all of the original series, which diverts from this universe about halfway through. The third is the one who knows everything about this one, and you know that you haven't even seen the entirety of the more accurate show, let alone the other adaption."

"Ah," I say, "then I'm the one who knows the second most?" Seeing it nod again, I ask, "The two ones I know are Jason and Lorelei; aren't they?"

If it had eyebrows, it would raise them. "That's quite an educated guess. I would ask how you knew, but I already know."

I shrug, saying, "You _are_ all-knowing."

"There's also one more thing that I have to tell you. Since you are apparently the type to try to befriend serial killers, and I can't have you dying right away, you'll need life preservation skills, mainly in the form of a power. You'll be able to control objects, as long as they are suspended in the air." It sees my confused look. "Say you have a pen. If you toss it up, you'll be able to control it, but only for as long as it remains in the air. You'll be able to do this for longer periods of time with smaller objects; with size, your power will decrease."

I stare at it and say, "And how exactly is that supposed to help me survive?" Honestly, it seems really lame. Ooh, I can levitate this pen, but only for a certain amount of time before it _fails_!

It rolls its nonexistent eyes and taps its hand on its leg. "There's always particles suspended in the air. If you're trying to run away or hide from someone, create a dust cloud. You'll figure it out more in time, but that should be enough information for now. You can go back to fighting a serial killer now."

"I had forgotten how much I hated your guts. With your abilities, you can easily transport me somewhere else and save me the trouble of running away and trying to go wherever it is you want me to end up." I give it my most convincing grin, which is still not very convincing.

Bull glares at me despite having no eyes at all and says, "You really don't know when to quit, do you? But fine, as long as it means I don't have to talk to you anymore than I already have." It waves its hand lazily, and everything goes black.

* * *

With that, I'm standing next to a food truck, facing a small shop with a huge sign above it that simply reads _MEAT_. It looks like it's near the end of the day, completely different from the time when I met Scar.

"Can you hold the door open? My hands are kinda full." A man peers out from the back of the truck, holding a huge crate that's probably full of meat.

I nod and rush over to the door, propping it open with my foot as he carries the box inside.

He emerges a second later and says, "Thanks. Have I seen you around here before? You don't seem familiar."

Neither do you, I want to say. "No, this is my first time here. I'm from, um, Central."

His eyes brighten as he asks, "Really? My name's Mason. Have you had a good time in Dublith so far?"

"Yeah, the people here are really, uh, friendly. I'm Damon."

"Is that all of the crates, Mason?" A voice calls from inside the shop seconds before a giant of a man appears. When I say giant, I mean he looks like an Armstrong, minus the blonde hair and the sparkles.

Mason nods and answers, "Yeah, Sig, that's the last one. And this's Damon; he's visiting Dublith for the first time."

So _that's_ why the man looked so familiar – he's Izumi's husband. That means – she's probably inside, waiting to throw knives at my head. Crap.

Sig stares down at me and I resist the urge to shrink under his gaze. It takes a lot of effort, trust me. "Is that so? I'm Sig Curtis; I run Curtis Meats." He points at the store behind him. "Where are you staying?"

I can't really say that I knew that already. "Um, nowhere yet, since I just got here; I don't have any money."

"You don't have any money?" Sig asks.

Think of an appropriate lie, Damon, you don't want to explain that you're from another world and that you got pulled here by a thing whose name you can't remember. "I had just gotten off the train when some guy decided to rob me."

"That's unfortunate," Mason says and frowns sympathetically.

I shrug and say, "I'll manage to find something out. I'm good at that sort of thing." It's true; I have always been good at finding out what to do in certain situations. That is, excluding Scar.

Sig shakes his head and asks, "Why don't you come inside for a while?"

I nod and follow him and Mason into the shop, then back into the dining room of what I assume is Sig's house. A dark-haired woman in a white dress is sitting at the table, reading a book and drinking from a cup of tea. She looks up as we walk in – I see that she's Izumi – and asks, "And who're you?"

Please don't beat me to a bloody pulp. "Damon Pythias."

"He's visiting from Central," says Mason. "He got his money stolen when he got here."

Izumi stares at me, narrowing her eyes. "And why are you back here, of all places?"

Um, how am I supposed to respond to that?

"I asked him to," Sig answers for me, much to my relief. I don't want to have to talk to her for any longer than I need to. "We do need another assistant at the shop, you know. Mason can't be everywhere at once, despite how much he tries."

Mason looks like he wants to interrupt and say he can handle it, but he decides against it and stays silent, probably for the better.

She raises her eyebrows questioningly and surveys me before replying. "I suppose, but where would he stay while working here?" She seems to have realized that I'm not one for talking and instead speaks directly to Sig, who she's pinpointed as the mastermind between this, not me.

"We have a spare bedroom." Sig shrugs and continues, "It could come out of part of his pay."

I notice how nobody is asking me what _I_ want, but I don't complain.

Izumi sighs and closes her book with a snap, setting it down on the table and standing up. "Is this what you'd want?" She asks, turning towards me.

Well, scratch that last thought. "Uh, since I don't have anywhere else to go, it's nice, but it is ultimately up to you, not me." Hey, I may be in another world without any money, but I'm not impolite, that's for sure.

Rolling her eyes, she turns back to Sig and says, "Fine. But it's up to one of you to train him. I have a stack of alchemy books to read and I'm not up for training people." She sits down again and crosses her arms, looking at me. "You can start working tomorrow; there's not enough time to begin today."

"Um, thanks," I stutter, not knowing what to say, "I wasn't expecting that."

"I'll show you to your room," Sig says, and motions for me to follow him, which I do. He leads me to a room with just a bed, a nightstand, and a closet in it, then closes the door behind me.

Finally alone, I sit on the edge of the bed and glance around the room. There's a pen on top of the nightstand, and I pick it up, remembering what Bull – I _still_ can't remember its name – said. I toss it into the air, watching it as it falls back down to my bed.

I throw it up again, wondering how exactly I can control it, and then again. _Stay up in the air for five seconds?_

Somehow, it does, and then comes crashing down on my head, startling me out of my thoughts. And probably drawing a line of ink down my nose while it does so, seeing as it was uncapped.

No, screw that about the uncapped part. Turns out it wasn't.

I repeat the process, this time thinking, _stay up for a minute?_ The pen complies, and I stare at it as it hovers in the air for sixty seconds, then dodge out of the way as it goes back down into my waiting hand.

Yay, I can control a pen in the air! I'm practically ready to fight Fuhrer Bradley. Note that I am being sarcastic. If I went against him, I'd be chopped into little pieces of Damon and scattered across Amestris for the mice to pick at whenever they felt hungry. Or chained to a rock, having birds eat out my liver for all eternity, just like Prometheus, that's a possibility.

How exactly he'd manage to pull that off, I have no idea, but he's a Homunculus. He could do it within a blink of his (regular) eye.

Anyways, I get tired of tossing the pen around and decide to examine it. It's definitely not like the pens we use today, and I think it's called a fountain pen, or something along that nature.

Disinterested, I put it back on the nightstand and sigh quietly. It's been a seriously long day and it's only my first day here.

Well, twenty-four hour period here, seeing as it was the middle of the night when I ran like a chicken with its head cut off – yet still screaming – from Scar, and about dusk when I saw Izumi and Sig and Mason. How exactly a chicken can scream and run with its head cut off is not my problem.

There's a sharp knock on my door and I say, "Come in?" Crap. It's my room and I already act like I'm imposing on it.

Mason opens the door and sticks his head in before his whole body follows and he ends up fully in the room. "I was just wondering; do you have any clothes other than the ones you have on you right now? They don't seem like what would be your first choice for traveling."

I glance down at my clothes and find myself agreeing with him. Being in my school uniform is not exactly my go-to clothes for traveling to Amestris, or anywhere really. "Yeah, the guy who stole my money also took my bag, which had all of my clothes and supplies in it." I'm surprised at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.

"Funny, I thought it'd be worse in Central than here in Dublith." His offhand comment makes me freeze momentarily, though he doesn't notice. "Anyways, I'll lend you some clothes in the morning, when I come back to open up the shop. I'm going to close up now, then go home."

"Thanks," I say, and he leaves me alone again. I slump against the wall and let out all my breath in relief that they don't suspect anything.

I don't even want dinner – or is it that I don't want to see Izumi and Sig again. It could be both.

Or maybe seeing a married couple doing married couple-y things scared me more than running from a serial killer and I lost my appetite because of that. Who knows?

I only mean to close my eyes for a moment, yet sleep washes over me like it's the ocean and I am the tide. No, the beach, I am the beach. The tide is part of the ocean. I make no sense.

* * *

"Hey, Damon," a voice says, startling me out of my sleep.

I sit up and look drowsily around, wondering why I'm not in my room like I normally am. It's a lot brighter than I would have liked it, and this most certainly is not my bed. "Huh?"

"It's time to start setting up the shop. I brought you new clothes like I said I would."

With a jolt, I realize that Mason's talking to me and that I'm in Izumi's house and that I'm really in Amestris and that it wasn't a dream or a joke or a delusion.

"Oh, thanks," I say, blinking the last traces of sleep from my eyes. "I'll be out in a minute."

He nods and closes the door behind him after leaving the clothes on the foot of my bed.

I pick them up and shrug inwardly. It can't hurt to try them on. Once I do, I look down at them, wondering how they could fit so well when Mason and I clearly aren't the same size. Oh well.

I wander out into the kitchen and find that Izumi and Sig aren't there; only Mason waits at the table. He offers me an apple, and I take it, looking it over on an instinct for bruises, but there thankfully aren't any.

"So," he says, "how've you been holding up? It's been quite a couple of days for you."

I shrug and take a bite of the apple, swallowing it before I say, "As well as I can be, given what's just happened. I'm still getting used to all this."

"Understandable," he says while nodding like he _understands_ what I'm going through. "And, if you ever need to talk about it, I'm always – well, _almost_ always – here."

What a joke. Yeah, if I tell him what _really_ happened, I'm going to get thrown into an institution with no key to even throw away. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Though I won't consider it an option, it seems like the right thing to say

I finish eating and he points me in the direction of the trash before saying, "Ready to start work for the first time?"

Um, is not really an acceptable answer?

I nod and throw the apple in the trashcan, following him into the entrance to the shop. Its light – hanging from the ceiling, I think, but I'm not sure – is off, but I notice that it's vaguely ancient-looking, like something you'd find at an antique store. I hate antique stores. They're filled with dust and mildew – or mold, I don't know the difference – and I start sneezing whenever I'm in one. Needless to say, I tend to avoid them at all costs.

A red chalkboard with white-chalked letters and a blue star is hanging on the wall, next to a tall cabinet holding bottles, jars, and cans. A sign reading what I vaguely recall to be yesterday's date, followed by _Meat Day_ and a picture of a cow's head is tacked onto the wall on the other side of the board. Next to that is a freezer filled with various meats.

The counter is set so it's perpendicular to the door we just came out of. There's a scale that's probably for weighing meat, an empty basin-like bowl, and a jar full of wrapped candy on it.

"The store opens in an hour, so there's enough time to at least explain the basics of working." Mason walks to the counter and opens a drawer in its back, pulling out a blue binder. "This is the set of instructions that Izumi gave me when I started working here." He hands it to me.

I thumb through it until I find the table of contents three pages in. It's filled with stuff like _The Types of Meat_ and _Recommendations_ and _Prices_ and _Specials_ and _Membership Discounts_. This is going to be either terribly confusing or terribly easy, with no in between. It's just how these things work.

Once I flip it closed, he begins to talk about the fundamentals, exactly like he said he would. I realize that, so far, this job sounds like it's going to fall into the _terribly easy_ category.

I can do this. I hope.

He eventually takes the binder from me and points me through some of it in a way that's really easy to understand.

Terribly easy it is, then.

After a long time with this crash course to running a meat shop, an hour has passed and Mason unlocks the door, flipping over a sign in the window so that the _Open_ written on it faces out.

"Does it usually get very busy?" I ask, wondering if I should prepare for a rabid horde of people to storm inside within a second.

He shakes his head and says, "Not at first; maybe a couple of people until right before lunch. That's when the majority comes in, but generally there's only a maximum of five or so." Five is still a lot – especially for a beginner – but he doesn't seem to get that, so I leave the point alone and don't mention it.

See, I can be nice, at least once in a while. Or at least, I can be polite. I'm not sure if nice is the correct word for that.

I see that something is missing from behind the counter and decide to ask him about it. "Uh, is there supposed to be no chair?"

"Oh!" He says, "I had forgotten all about that. I just lean on the counter and Sig is capable of standing motionless for hours at a time. I'll go get one right now. There shouldn't be anyone coming in for a while, so you should be good." He ducks back into the hallway and returns a moment later, chair in hand, putting it behind the counter, slightly to the left.

"What're the hours?" I ask, not trying to be conversational but wanting to know the time. I know, it's much easier to ask what I really was thinking, but I don't care.

Mason tilts his head as he presumably searches his mind for them. Or he could be wondering how strange it is that I didn't ask him before I started working. I don't know. "Ten to eight on Monday through Friday, but we usually take shifts," he says.

I nod and make my way over to the counter.

Much to my surprise, the first customer comes in right as I'm sitting down. She's an old lady – I know that's probably rude to say – with graying hair and an old-lady-y choice of clothing. With her is a younger girl – maybe her granddaughter – with slightly more normal clothes on.

Mason smiles at them and leans forward, his elbows on the counter. "Dante, Lyra, how goes it? Let me guess what you're here to buy." He pauses dramatically, clearly for effect. "Could it be _meat_?"

The old lady – Dante, I assume, because of the name – smiles slightly. Her gaze swivels to me. "Who's this?"

"He's Damon; he just started working for us today."

I give a halfhearted wave. So far, the only people that I remember from the show have been Scar, Sig, Izumi, and Bull – its name still eludes me greatly. Could everyone else not have been included?

"Hi," I say weakly, sounding completely pathetic, like I always do.

Lyra raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.

Ugh.

I can already tell that this is going to be an interesting day.

Dante – why does that name sound so familiar? Maybe Lorelei mentioned it sometime. – gives another smile, this one directed at me. "Hello, Damon," she says in her old-lady-y voice, before continuing, "I'm Dante Alighieri and this is my granddaughter, Lyra. Have you been here long?"

I shake my head and say, "Nope. I actually arrived here yesterday."

"And they hired you?" Lyra tilts her head to one side, her voice deadpan.

"Guess I just have a trustworthy face," I say, shrugging.

She snorts and rolls her eyes, and I can't resist grinning. It looks like my first day here won't be that bad.

"Anyways," Mason says, "what can I get for you two young ladies today? The usual, I presume; a two-kilogram boneless pork tenderloin?"

Dante nods and says, "You are correct."

He winks at me like I'm in on the conspiracy, and whispers, "I'm secretly psychic." He goes to ready the meat, leaving me alone at the counter.

He never told me I'd ever be left alone. I sit there, staring awkwardly at them, unsure of what to do. Great, now I'm going through separation anxiety and it's only my first day on the job.

"So," Lyra says, drawing the word out, "what led you to work here?"

"Mostly, a lot of crazy coincidences that I still can't believe are true." Like how I got pulled in by Bull into a fictitious world and that half of the people I meet aren't even in the anime. I don't need to tell them the whole story. If I did, I wouldn't tell them. Hey, what I said wasn't even a lie, really.

Mason reappears from the door, holding a package of meat. He puts it on the scale, weighing it and apparently doing the math in his head. "That'll be eight-hundred and fifty cenz, please."

I decide not to comment the fact that it sounds extremely expensive, as Amestris probably has a different set of currency than America. Well, obviously has a different unit of currency, seeing as he said _cenz_, not _dollars_. What I really mean is that the value of a cen would probably not be equal to the value of a dollar.

Dante digs through her old-lady-y purse in an old-lady-y way and hands him a handful of coins and paper bills. "That's nine-hundred, if my counting is right."

She didn't even count them, which strikes me as slightly suspicious, though Mason seems not to notice. Maybe he's gotten used to her strange behavior.

He quickly counts the money and nods, giving her a beaming smile and putting them into a box in a drawer. Rifling through a different drawer, he hands her two coins back along with the package. "Have a nice day, and thanks for your business!"

"Tell Izumi and Sig I said hello," Dante says as she turns to walk out the door.

Lyra sighs as she follows her out, clearly desperate to return back to the normalness that comes with buying four kilograms of pork, however much that is. Wait, it was two, not four, right?

After they leave, I sigh and slump forward in my chair, like a marionette with its strings cut. It's not even been half an hour and yet I'm exhausted. All I can do is look forward until eight. Only nine and a half more hours, I think. I've never been good with time.

Mason glances over at me out of the corner of his eye and grins, asking, "How were your first two customers?"

"Couldn't have asked for better," I say after shrugging. The truth is that I could probably ask for someone that I know, or at least recognize, from the show. It's kind of disorienting, expecting to meet people that I know and not. But I'm not going to tell him that.

"That's good," he says, "Either Sig or I will always be out here when there are customers so you can learn what to do. Unless we're readying the meat, of course," he adds as an afterthought.

"Yeah, I don't think I could do that yet," I agree, tipping my chair back so its front legs are off of the ground. "And I'm sure you want to keep me out here for my pretty face."

He rolls his eyes and raises his eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

I give him my best thousand-watt grin, dripping with brazenness. "Of course I am; do I look like a liar to you?"

Never mind the fact that I'm actually a liar. That's not important right now, or ever.

He looks like he's contemplating something with all of his being, or at least he pretends to. "Do you want the polite answer or the honest one?"

I fake glare at him and send my chair crashing back down. It jolts upwards again as one of the front legs hit the ground before the other. "Scratch that, I know the answer and I don't require you to say it."

Mason exhales deeply and leans on the counter, draping himself over it. "That's too bad."

"I guess so," I say without really thinking about it. By then, I'm not really giving him my full attention, which should be obvious.

* * *

The rest of the day passes pretty normally, given that I've been dragged into an anime from real life without any real explanation.

Another customer comes in about an hour later, and Mason takes his order while grinning like a chipmunk on crack cocaine. Don't ask how I know what a chipmunk on crack cocaine acts like, I heard Lorelei say that about a guy she knows with a name like Phoenix or something.

Girls and their weird expressions; how could she even connect a guy with a chipmunk on crack cocaine is beyond me.

Anyways, it turns out that we take two-hour shifts. For me, at least one other person has to be out because it's my first day, but Mason and Sig can work all by themselves like the big boys they are.

I am apparently not a big boy. I'm not sure whether to be offended by my subconscious or to thank it.

So, after my first two hours are up, Mason and I head back to the kitchen after Sig comes out.

"We usually switch between working in the kitchen and working in the shop, so no customer is ever alone," Mason says. "But since you're now here, I can prepare the meat while you charm the buyers with your stunning personality."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. So much for my theory that big boys work all by themselves; does that mean I can be a big boy?

"But, when you're working in the back, you can be the errand-runner of sorts. You'll hear what the order is, and relay it to me, then take it to Sig in the front. It's really easy. You can do this until you're ready to work up front by yourself."

"How'll I know when to come out to the shop if I'm in the kitchen?" It is a totally reasonable question.

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens his mouth, and closes it. "Good point," he says after a pause, "you should probably go back out there to be safe."

"Safe?"

He smirks, and it turns into a full-fledged grin. "Being in the kitchen means you're closer to Izumi. I saw how terrified of her you were."

Guess I wasn't being as inconspicuous as I thought.

I nod vigorously and walk towards the doorway into the shop. "Yes, that is an extremely good point."

Sig doesn't even glance at me as I sit in the chair; his gaze remains focused on the door leading out into the street. Even though there's nobody else in the room, he doesn't bother to make conversation, which is fine with me. I'm perfectly happy flipping through the binder to learn more about my new job.

Of course, I have to _find_ the binder first before I can read it. It's in a drawer, I know that much, but which one? I pick a random one and open it to find that it holds an open cash box, with a collection of coins of numerous sizes and different paper bills.

Sig glances at me, his eyes asking the question his mouth doesn't. I'm pretty sure it means, _what the hell are you doing?_

"Sorry," I say, quickly closing it, "I'm just looking for the binder that Mason showed me. It's in one of these drawers, but I don't know which one."

"Third drawer down, all the way on the left," he sighs, his gaze shifting back to the empty room.

I pull the drawer in question open to find that what I'm looking for is in it, so I say, "Thanks."

As I take the binder out, I find that there's a stack of books beneath it. They're all rather small – in both format and length – so it makes sense that there's more than one.

Oh well, I have to focus on my _job_ first, not various books to peruse through. That can come later. If I remember it at all, since my memory's notoriously bad.

I read, gaining knowledge about all aspects of meat, even the ones I don't want to know, for about half an hour before a customer comes in.

"You again," Sig growls, glaring as them as they stroll in.

"_Me_?" The person does his best to look offended, putting his hand to his chest in mock horror. "What did I ever do to you?" Oh _crap_, I know him, but he's not the fifth person from the show I wanted to meet – Scar, Bull, Sig, Izumi, and he makes five. I can recognize his voice, but his way of dressing is the dead giveaway that it's Greed standing in front of me.

"You know perfectly well what you did, _Greed._"

The Homunculus gives an exaggerated sigh. "Can't you just get me my order in peace? Then I will be out of here before you can blink or complain about my existence."

You better, but that won't stop me from doing either of those things.

Sig sighs and rolls his eyes, turning to me. "I'll be the one to tell Mason, since I can't stand to be in this guy's presence any longer. Are you capable of making sure this vagrant doesn't steal all of our money?"

I nod, shoving my uncertainty into a dark corner in the recesses of my mind, and he goes back to the kitchen.

"You don't look familiar," Greed says, tilting his head to one side as he studies me intently. "Did you just start working here or something?"

"It's something like that." I don't bother to hide my annoyance about having to talk to him.

He grins at my obvious discomfort and says, "You aren't very talkative, are you?"

I shake my head, an answer to his question all by itself.

"Well, you're boring. What's your name, anyway? I'm Greed."

To reply or not to reply, that is the question. Tired of him watching me, I decide to do the first option. "Yeah, I heard Sig say that," I say in the driest voice I can muster, which is exceptionally dry, trust me. I've had a lot of practice with that, being friends with Jason and Lorelei. Though she's taught me everything I need to know about sarcasm, he gives us lots of opportunities to use our caustic wit. "I'm Damon. What's with the weird name?"

"I could say the same to you," he says, putting his hands on the counter. "Who names their kid _Damon_?"

"Who names their kid after one of the seven deadly sins? Let me guess, you want everything?" I know, I know, I'm pushing my luck here, but it's been so long that I've had the opportunity to act snarky that I can't resist.

Beneath his weird glasses, there's a ninety percent chance he's rolling his eyes. "Just be glad I'm not Gluttony, otherwise I'd eat you alive." He pauses and shakes his head violently. "Not in that way."

"Are you _sure_? You did imply that you wanted _everything_. And that does mean _everything_." I didn't remember how fun it was to act like this. It's a relief to be the insulter instead of the insulted.

Before Greed can reply, Sig comes out of the kitchen, carrying a package stuffed in a paper bag. More accurately, five paper bags. "That'll be three-thousand cenz," he says in a monotone as he puts everything down without bothering to weigh them. I guess he has a different approach to this than Mason.

Muttering under his breath about something like highway robbery, the Homunculus deposits a handful of bills onto the counter. "That should cover it."

Sig counts them dutifully and deposits them into the cashbox before nodding. "You can get out of my store now."

"_Can_ I?" Nevertheless, he picks up all of the bags as if they weighed less than a feather. "Nice meeting you, Damon," he says as he walks out, grinning his shark-toothed grin. "I would say nice to see you too, Sig, but I don't lie."

"Does he come here a lot?" I ask after Greed has left. I don't want to deal with him any more than I have to.

"Maybe once or twice a week," Sig says, "and it's still too often."

I'm probably going to find myself agreeing with him. Hey, even though I liked Greed after he merged with Ling, it doesn't mean I have to like the first Greed. Or tolerate him at all.

Due to the shop having no customers, Sig standing like an inanimate rock, and the fact that I'm _sick_ of reading about meat, I have time simply to think which characters I could get along with in the aforementioned anime that I was stupid enough to land in.

I've already – albeit briefly – met Scar. Needless to say, he and I won't be best buds anytime soon. I'll have to save up the friendship bracelets in my pocket for someone else.

Sig and Izumi terrify me, and rightfully so. It'll be a long time before I manage to get over my debilitating fear of them.

Never in a million years will I be friends with Bull. Or any Homunculi, or that mad bomber dude who Lorelei's obsessed with.

As for Mason, Dante, and Lyra, I'm still not sure about them, seeing as I have to get to know them like normal people normally would in a normal world. I know, gasp; the horror.

I could maybe be friends with Ling. Yeah, he's most likely my best bet.

And my rambling thoughts are interrupted when Mason appears in the doorway and says, "Hey Damon, do you want lunch or not? If you stay out here for much longer, you're going to miss it, and I don't think you want to do that."

I look up to Sig, who nods and motions for me to go, so I do. I have no real desire to stay out here inwardly debating who I could be friends with.

Crap.

I had forgotten about Izumi, but I'll have to learn to toughen up and deal with it. She's not even in the kitchen, but I can sense her presence, probably reading in her bedroom or whatever else Izumi Curtis does in her spare time other than beat up unsuspecting children.

"So, do you know what you want to eat?"

Is _heck no_ an appropriate response? Have they even invented bread in the twentieth century? What if all people eat now are apples and meat? "Um, not really, do you have any suggestions? I'm not really sure if food from Central is similar to food here."

Mason shrugs and says, "There's always meat, seeing as we work at a store selling meat. But if you're a vegetarian – though I have no idea why you'd work at a meat store if you were one – there's fruit and sandwiches. Or you can go out into town and look for something there. It could come out of your paycheck."

"I guess I'll go out," I say hesitantly. "How much do you think I'll need? You know here better than I do." Really, the reason that made me want to go out was the fact that it'll put me farther away from the Curtis duo.

"I'd say a thousand cenz, just to be safe." He opens a drawer – it's disconcerting, the number of drawers in this house – and passes me a bunch of coins, which I stuff into my pocket. "Usually we have an hour break for lunch, albeit at different times, but I'll let you take up to two hours, since you're not used to Dublith. Make sure to be back in two hours."

I nod and ask, "Is there a specific way I should go out? I don't want to go out the shop door if that's not allowed or something." I'm not very keen on getting my head split open by an angry Izumi.

Mason shakes his head. "We won't beat you to a pulp because you make a mistake, you know. But no, there's no right way. You can do what you want."

If _he_ can see how terrified I am of them, what will everyone else say?

"Um, thanks," I say, quickly making my way into the shop, nodding at Sig, and out the door and into the street.

It's thankfully empty, but that leaves me with nobody to surreptitiously follow. I look to the left and then to the right. Dang it, I'm going to have to make a decision sooner or later. I take out one of the coins – cenz, apparently – from my pocket and flip it in my hands. It lands on tails; left it is.

I shove the coin back into my pocket and wonder why the street is so empty. It's around lunch; shouldn't there be more people out?

I pass a grand total of one person on my way to wherever my feet are leading me. He's stalking down on the other side of the street, and I pause when I identify him. "Chimera," I find myself mouthing, despite my brain's futile attempts to hinder my words.

He stops walking immediately and strolls casually over to me. "Did you say something?" He asks like he's doing no more than asking about the weather.

_Hell no_ is definitely not the right thing to say. Running down the street and back to the shop – Izumi and Sig are terrifying, but at least they're not chimera terrifying – is definitely not the right thing to do. That leaves me with –

"Cheery day," I blurt out without thinking, "that's what I said. Cheery day, isn't it?"

I don't recall his name, but he is – was – _is_, he's not dead yet – the dog chimera who works – worked – _ugh_ – for Greed. He glances at me suspiciously, as if judging my fate. "Sure, I guess it is." With that, he brushes past me and continues on his way down the street.

I swear under my breath and keep walking while shaking my head like it could clear my mind. Pretty soon, I end up in front of a weird store thingy that's probably going to be the best I'm going to get if I keep going this way.

I'm about to open the door when I hear an old lady say in an old-lady-y voice, "Damon?"

If that's not Dante, I'm going to eat my nonexistent hat.

I turn around in the direction of the voice.

My nonexistent hat is safe – for now, at least.

"Oh, that is you!" Indeed, it's Dante who's walking towards me at the speed of – guess what – an old lady. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you. Their sandwiches are primeval." She smiles at me secretively and holds a finger up to her lips. "Why don't you come with me to my house and have lunch with Lyra and me?"

Isn't there something in my internal rulebook about not going to lunch with old ladies and their younger granddaughters? If so, then screw that rule. I don't want sandwiches that are like Gaston. Not that I really know what _primeval _means.

"Um, you wouldn't mind or anything? I wouldn't want to impose."

She rolls her eyes, which is surprisingly not an action that I associate with being an old lady. "Of course not, we'd love to have you!"

I find myself wondering if she has contacted Lyra about this decision.

Okay, I _seriously_ need to stop it with all of this old lady stuff. It's not healthy to think about that every time I see an old lady. At least, I think it's unhealthy.

"If you insist," I say, shrugging and smiling back bashfully. "Though I have to be back at work in two hours; I don't want to be breaking rules on my first day on the job." And I certainly don't want a kitchen knife being chucked at my head either. Why I ever agreed to stay with Izumi is beyond me.

"Of course I'm insisting," Dante says, "what kind of person would I be if I didn't?"

That is how I ended up letting myself get dragged to her house, which is quite honestly more of a mansion than an actual house. As in, it looks like the Armstrong estate, minus the sparkles.

"Do I want to know why you've brought a random stranger to our house for lunch?" Lyra says, appearing out of virtually nowhere as soon as I walk past the front gate. "He's the third one in as many days."

I'd like to say I'm not surprised, but that would be a lie. "Where the _heck_ did you come from?" It's probably best not to swear around the two people who will eventually offer me free food.

"Is now really the best time to talk about that?"

Dante claps her hands as if herding disobedient sheep and says, "I'm quite happy to eat all of the lunch I've prepared by myself, you know."

And I'll lose the lunch I've been given for free? "Nope, I'm content with talking after we eat," I say hurriedly.

"Yeah, eat first, talk later," Lyra immediately agrees, running ahead of us to open the door. "It's rude to deny a growing girl her food, right?"

"The only growing you're doing is growing wider!" Dante calls, shaking her head. "Teenagers," she hisses, but it's softened by a smirk. "Well, I guess that's the same for me too."

I hope she realizes she's talking to a teenager. Eighteen years old is still a teenager, right?

I follow the duo into the house and stop when I see that I've entered a huge foyer with gigantic awnings that make me feel like I'm a speck in the eyes of the universe. "Holy crap," I whisper, scared to break the silence enveloping the room. "This place is ginormous!"

Lyra rolls her eyes. "If you think _this_ is big, wait until you see the dining room."

That's not ominous at all. Nevertheless, I trail after them until I see –

The biggest room that I have ever seen in my whole entire life, including my school gymnasium; and my school was obsessed with sports, so it had a colossal gym.

"This is incredible!" I say, practically Edward-Elric-on-one-of-his-short-rants-minus-the-actual-rage style. "You could fit my entire _house_ in here; no, ten of them!"

"Do you want to eat or marvel at the size of the dining room for two hours?" Dante asks, her grin leaking through into her voice.

Despite my obvious longing to explore the house, food will always come before anything else. Except maybe my Xbox Live account, but I'm pretty sure Amestris doesn't have any connection. "I'm gonna have to go with eat," I say.

Lyra mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, "_Boys_."

If what Bull said is true and Jason's going to wind up here, I can't _wait_ for them to meet. He's even more boy-like than I am. And that doesn't make any sense at all, but whatever.

Somehow, I wind up walking into the kitchen, all while following the two ladies who are still strangers. But I can see why they wouldn't want to eat in the more formal dining room, seeing as there's a table that could easily fit fifty people in there. If it only fit forty-nine, then being there with three people wouldn't be that bad, but _fifty_? That goes against every etiquette law imaginable.

So yeah, as soon as I enter the kitchen, I'm shoved into a chair at a small table and food is in front of my eyes before I can blink. "Wow," is all I can comment, glancing down at my plate in awe. I'm usually an observant person, but I have no idea who or what could have done that.

"Sorry," Lyra says, "I've been told my alchemy is rather disorienting to people who aren't used to it."

"You're an alchemist?"

She nods as she sits down across from me. "Wind is my specialty. Grandmother's better at it than I am, though."

Dante sighs as she picks up her fork, saying, "For the last time, Lyra, it's because I'm ancient. You'll be better than me someday." She waves her utensil at me and commands, "Eat."

I look down at my plate. It looks like the early twentieth century version of pasta, or, exactly the same as modern-day pasta. I decide it's better to fulfill her demand than to risk the wrath of two accomplished wind alchemists. It doesn't even taste that bad, so I can't complain about that. I'll have to find something else to fuel my inner monologue.

This seems to be the right thing to do. "So, how old are you?" I ask, and then blink. "That was directed at Lyra," I clarify hastily.

"Sixteen," Lyra says, twirling her fork in her hand. "And you?"

"Eighteen. Yeah, I know, I look older than I really am. Feel free to go into a catatonic state."

Lyra rolls her eyes, Dante groans in fake exasperation, and I'm done with my food before I even realize it. "I should probably get going now. Don't want to be late and all. I can show myself out; I _am_ a fully grown boy – man – _member of the male species_ – after all."

They nod in perfect synchronization, which is _totally_ not creepy at all. "Make sure not to trip and ruin your manicure," Lyra calls out in a sing-song voice.

"That would be a tragedy," I reply, waving as I walk out of the room. "And thanks for the lunch! I owe you guys one." More than one, for saving me from eating those primeval sandwiches, but I don't say that.

I speed-walk through the empty dining room and back out into the foyer, where there's a clock hanging above the door. It reads half past two, which means I have half an hour to get back.

Perfect.

Hopefully, I won't run into any Homunculi or chimeras again. I doubt I'll have beginner's luck for a second time; or any at all, for that matter. I, Damon Pythias, am renowned throughout the world for possessing not a single shred of luck in my entire body. Must've pissed off a leprechaun in a past life or something; not that I believe in past lives, or leprechauns.

Maybe it's because of the one time I accidentally stepped on a four-leaf clover.

Or maybe I'm just being irrational and I need to focus on actually walking, instead of staring at the ground absent-mindedly.

Yes, walking to work is _good_, staring at the ground is _bad_. I'm practically ready to be a trainer.

"Sorry," I mutter after I bump into someone, who keeps going on their merry way as if I'm too small to see. Gosh, I'm turning into Ed now.

I do not want to end up as a microscopic pipsqueak.

This internal debate is getting boring, but thankfully I've reached the door to the shop. With a silent prayer to who-knows-who, I open the door and narrowly keep myself from ducking under imaginary knives being thrown at my head. I thank my self-control – inwardly – because I know how weird that would've looked out of context.

Great, it's my first day on the job and already having paranoid nightmares – um, day-mares, I guess – about my new boss.

Mason is leaning on the counter when I walk in, chatting amiably with a customer I don't know. He glances up at me trying to enter surreptitiously and grins, waving at me. "Hey, Damon, back fifteen minutes early! I would say that's a surprise, but that would be a lie."

So much for trying to sneak back unnoticed. "Yeah, being late isn't really my style."

"Sig told me that Izumi wanted to talk to you when you got back." He says it conversationally, pointing a hand in the direction that leads to the kitchen, as if he wasn't telling me that the most terrifying woman that I could ever come into contact with wants to converse with me. "You can go talk to her now. I can cover for you in here."

I nod, and he refocuses his attention on the customer, which leaves me no choice but to enter into the lion's den. Maybe if the lions had known that the way into their den was through a kitchen, they wouldn't have been so keen on eating poor, pathetic humans like me.

But lions are, well, lions. I can't claim to know what they think about, if they even think at all.

Who knows? If I survive this encounter, I'll have to ask the lion chimera guy.

Sig, who's chopping up what's presumably meat in the kitchen, gives me what I think might be a sympathetic look. Or maybe it was just an imperceptible nod and a blink. I can't tell with him.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling it, I peek into the dining room and visibly relax when none of the sharp instruments of death I had expected are aimed at my heart.

When I see that the dining room is empty, I manage to stutter, "Uh, Izumi?" This wasn't really what I was expecting when I pictured this scenario.

"In here," she calls, and I follow the voice into a bedroom which I'm assuming belongs to her and Sig. She's sitting on the bed with a book open on her lap, but she marks the page, closing it when she sees me come in. "Sit down," she says, gesturing to the chair next to her.

So far, she's not in a rage and threatening to skin me. This is better than I expected.

Still, that doesn't mean she _won't_ fly into a rage and threaten to skin me. I sit down faster than I ever thought I could move. "You said you wanted to talk with me?"

Izumi nods and puts the book down next to her. "I was just wondering how it seems a tiny bit convenient, how you came to work for us and all."

Uh, what could she mean by that?

Oh hell, she knows. She knows that I'm from another dimension and got pulled in here by Bull for some sort of dastardly plot. Should I listen to what she has to say or spill everything now? That is the question.

"I know Mason's naturally a trusting person, and Sig tends to see the best in people, but I for one can't help but be slightly suspicious about your story. So tell me, what are your intentions of staying with us?" She looks guarded, but nowhere near as angry as I thought she would.

There must be something that I'm misunderstanding, so I ask, "Intentions?"

She shrugs; it's a loose motion that lets me know she's perfectly at ease. Rightfully so, seeing as she could beat the crap out of me; heck, she could do that without moving a muscle. "Are you planning to rob us?"

I blink disbelievingly and exclaim, "_Rob_ you?"

"There has to be _some_ reason why you let Sig drag you back here. Tell me the truth, and I can promise you that I won't call the police. You seem like a nice boy, if a bit misguided–"

That – that's it! Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "The Truth!"

Izumi stares at me. "What about the Truth?" Her voice has gone icy and has lowered until it's barely more than a whisper.

I feel everything inside of me freeze until I'm basically nothing more than skin surrounding a Popsicle. "I saw it."

"You performed human transmutation?" _Now_ her voice is beginning to sound rage-filled.

"No," I say as I shake my head.

More than anything else, she looks confused. "Then how did you see it?"

Screw it. I'm gonna tell her everything, asylum or no asylum. Although I might get tossed into the loony bin for how crazy my explanation will sound. "Where I come from, science advanced instead of alchemy, which changed the world in more ways than one," I say slowly.

If I only had watched the other series, then I might be able to explain this better. Apparently it was more focused on the connection between the two worlds.

"Do you have movies in Amestris? Like, films made with motion-picture cameras?"

Izumi nods and says, "They're a pretty minor thing, but yes, they do exist. They're mostly for the rich and famous, though."

Thank goodness for Amestrian movies. "Okay, see, in my world, it's the twenty-first century instead of the twentieth century. This combined with the advanced science means that movies are a lot more advanced. Some are half-an-hour long, but they are released once a week. Does this make sense so far?"

"Yes," she says, "I guess so."

"One of these movie series, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood… It was about this world, mainly Edward and Alphonse Elric."

She asks, "Ed and Al? _What did they do?_" Her eyes are filled with some sort of demonic fire. Though I know it's not directed at me, I'm still terrified.

"I – I can't tell you that."

"You watched this series, right? Then you should know."

I gulp before saying, "I've never watched the ending. Wasn't able to and all. Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you what happens. It could disrupt the entire sequence of events; since you and your husband are characters in the show, your whole fate could be changed entirely."

Izumi looks at me as if she's trying to decide whether or not I'm lying. "How do I know you're not delusional?"

I close my eyes and put my head in my hands. "You tried to bring your baby back using human transmutation. It failed, and you saw the Truth, losing some of your insides."

She sighs quietly. "And how did you end up here, if what you say is true?"

I shrug and say, "The Truth didn't bother telling me. I have no idea whatsoever. Really, all I want to do is go back home before anything else happens to me."

"I just have one more question I have to ask you. What did the Truth look like to you?"

"A white blob-thing that vaguely resembled a person, but with no features; it was in this fully white void. Is that what you wanted to know?"

She inclines her head slightly and leans back in her bed. "Yes, that is all. You can go back to work now." As I get up and turn towards the door, she says, "And Damon?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone else about how you ended up here."

I nod and walk out. Whatever this conversation was, it was certainly not what I was expecting.

* * *

Author's Notes

Honestly, I never imagined that I'd get this far, as in uploading this chapter, not writing the first chapter. Though I did write the first five chapters out of order, like mega out of order, as in I wrote Chapter Three, then Five, Two, One, and Four, mostly because I felt like it.

I have to thank all of you who give this a shot, even if it's just the first chapter.

I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist or Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood or anything affiliated with these series. Seeing as my chances of discovering a genie in a lamp are slim-to-none, this will serve for my whole story.

* * *

And now onto the more technical part of the Author's Note, where I try to explain details about the story that might not make sense or that I feel need explanation.

_Titles_: The Art of Breaking is both a song and an album by the band Thousand Foot Krutch, and so is The Invitation. The same goes for Set It Off; the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from it.

_Setting_: For the most part, this story takes place in Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, though it will have elements that are strictly from the manga or the first anime. Characters – either from the manga, anime, or both – that aren't in Brotherhood will make an appearance, though not in the same way their original role did.

_Damon's Power_: As long as a non-living object is in the air, Damon can control it. The greater the size of the object, the less power he has over it.

_Mason_: Mason is the assistant at Curtis Meats in both the manga and the original anime. It's assumed that he knows about Izumi's attempt at human transmutation. His role is almost fully cut out in Brotherhood; aside from a single scene where he tells Izumi that the Elrics were seen entering the Devil's Nest.

_Curtis Meats_: The design for the inside of the shop comes from the original anime. The outside design comes from Brotherhood.

_Dante_: Dante is an anime-exclusive character who basically is a walking spoiler. For this story, she's a simple old lady in Dublith who is a wind alchemist. Her last name, Alighieri, references the poet in the middle ages, Dante Alighieri. In the story, her house isn't based on anything in particular from the anime.

_Lyra_: Again, Lyra is only in the original anime. For this story, she's Dante's sixteen-year-old granddaughter who aspires to be a State Alchemist.

_Measurement_: I'm assuming Amestris uses the Metric System for measurement. In regards to currency, they use cenz. One cen is worth about as much as a penny.

_Movies_: On Earth, the first motion picture cameras were invented in the 1890s. Alchemy did surpass the sciences in Amestris, but it can be assumed that the early forms of movies existed in Amestris, even if they were just a prototype.

* * *

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it. If you want to, stick around for the next chapter. Review if you feel led to. Ask questions if you want to and I'll do my best to answer them as soon as I can unless they involve spoilers.

With that, I bid you dear readers, adieu.


	2. Fire It Up

**Current Status**

Damon Pythias: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

* * *

Part One: The Invitation

**Chapter Two – Fire It Up**

"_I'm in love with the feeling of pressure to the ceiling; we come with intention to face my opposition."_

* * *

Jason Pelion

I will admit that this isn't my finest moment by a long shot. When I pictured finally getting to make a new impression, it wasn't by falling out of the sky. _Literally_; I'm currently hurtling down from who-knows-where at a rate of I-am-going-to-die-I-don't-have-time-to-calculate-velocity-this-isn't-math-class.

Honestly, I suppose I'm being remarkably level-headed about dropping to what will most likely be my death from colliding into a power line. Then again, I'm not even sure that this place _has_ power lines.

I'm never going to meet people that don't know about my nicknames courtesy of Lorelei 'The Psycho' Clemons. I'll die with the words _Pretty Pink Princess_ emblazoned on my forehead.

By the way, I am not a Pretty Pink Princess. I am a seventeen-year-old _boy_.

Anyways, about my impending demise, the wind force might kill me before I end up a crushed mess in the middle of a busy street. Or I might swallow a fly because I can't seem to close my mouth, and then promptly choke and die. Really, the possibilities are endless, which is the only thing keeping me from screaming and trying in vain to reverse gravity.

Somehow – probably due to the stupid currents up here – I end up actually facing the ground, and can see as it gradually gets closer.

This is way worse – oh, the buildings down there look like ants that will be the death of me.

I really need to work on my attention span, but the buildings really are beginning to get larger and closer, so now isn't the best time to begin reevaluating my life priorities.

Yup, that's a power line I am falling towards at the speed of I-am-totally-going-to-die-this-sucks-royally. I don't want to see myself get electrocuted, so I close my eyes.

And wait, and wait, and keep waiting, and wait some more, and wait, and wait until –

"Hello."

I slowly open one eye and find myself in an entirely different place. It's an all-white landscape that stretches on for what looks like miles, but probably is more like forever. How someone can stand to stay in this amount of whiteness is astounding. "Hello?"

The disembodied voice says, "Turn around."

Following its ominous instruction, I see a blob creature kneeling about ten feet in front of me. "You're not creepy at all."

The Great Big Blob stands up and probably would be staring at me if it had eyes. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call me The Great Big Blob."

Did I say that out loud? I don't think I did. "You haven't exactly told me your name."

It sighs in that strange voice and says, "I am called by many names. I am the world. I am the universe. I am God. I am Truth. I am all. I am one. And I am also you." It points at my face, though it logically shouldn't be able to see me.

"How long did it take for you to come up with that?" I ask, continuing, "And if you're 'all', then shouldn't you be The Great Big Blob by association?"

Waving its hand demandingly, The Great Big Blob says, "I don't have all day, you know."

"Since you seem like the thing to ask, why was I falling out of the sky just a moment ago, and how did I end up here?" I gesture with my hands as I talk for emphasis.

"Simply, you have been pulled into another world. The falling part was how it played out, but I can assure you that you won't die so soon."

Well, that's reassuring. "This is my punishment for staying up past three in the morning playing video games when I was supposed to be sleeping, isn't it? I normally wouldn't, but they were first-person shooters, and I have no resistance against first-person shooting games."

The Great Big Blob shakes its head as if frustrated with a disobedient small child. "No, that's not the reason you're here. It's more along the lines of: I was bored and decided to drag five people here to watch the hilarious confusion and escapades that follow their arrival. You just happen to be the second."

First is the worst, second is the best? That doesn't help my annoyance at being the second one chosen. "Who was your first choice?"

"A boy named Damon Pythias, to be exact," it says after a pause.

"_Damon Pythias_? Do you have any standards at all?"

Groaning, The Great Big Blob taps its foot on the ground, despite there being no visible floor. "I have more standards than you do, quite honestly. And please desist in calling me The Great Big Blob. I know the nickname Lorelei gave you, and I won't hesitate to use it."

Please tell me it isn't the nickname that I think it is.

"Yes, Pretty Pink Princess, it is the nickname you don't want anybody to find out about. I have to say, your friend is a very creative girl, which might be why she's the next in line."

I stare at it in disbelief and say, "You can't be serious. You're letting _her_ through too? How many of these people do I know?"

It seems to be growing impatient with my constant questions. "While there are five altogether, you only know Damon and Lorelei. In time, you'll meet up with the other two as well, though it won't be for a while. You will have to rely on your meager people skills in order not to get shot through the head during your first interaction."

My people skills are more 'nonexistent' than 'meager', so I fully expect to get shot within five minutes.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," it says, "I really am quite busy right now, so you'll have to be headed back on your merry journey. Do try not to get yourself killed right away; I don't want to have wasted my energy pulling you into this universe simply so you can die within three seconds."

I shrug and run my hand through my hair as I say, "That would be quite a shame, yes? Eighteen seconds is much more acceptable."

The Great Big Blob doesn't reply, which is probably for the best since I can argue for hours on end. It just claps its hands together, and everything goes dark.

Opening my eyes, I find myself staring up at the blue expanse of space, but the falling sensation is gone. I prop myself up onto my elbow and look down at myself, wondering how I landed on the ground without any injury at all. Just a minute ago, I was hurtling through the sky like some sort of demented rocket, and now –

I'm sitting entangled in black wire I can only assume is a power line. The two poles that'd been supporting it have fallen on either side of me, and I'm right smack-dab in the middle, pondering over demented rockets.

Yes, some knowledge about electricity would be very helpful right now if I want to avoid dying, but I spent my teenage years researching how to build nuclear bombs, not basic energy. I can only assume that staying still, and not reacting like the stereotypical horror movie character would, is my best bet.

Since I can't do much else, I take the time to assess my surroundings in greater detail than 'the sky is blue'. I'm against one of the buildings that form a narrow street. About ten feet away on the other side, there's an archway lined with pale bricks that fade into white paint.

It takes me a moment to see that the greenish sign above it reads _Devil's Nest_ and that a person is walking out of the doorway.

"Go find out what happened to the power, Dolcetto," he mutters mockingly, his steps clacking -loudly on the ground as he stalks out of the building. He sighs when he sees me sitting in the middle of the street. "Do I even want to know?"

I shake my head and raise my arms in some form of a shrug, replying, "Probably not."

As he steps into the light, I can see what he looks like, not that it makes much of an impression. Brown hair, black shirt under a white vest-thingy with armbands and grayish pants with boots – but it's the sword that captures my attention.

"Is that a katana?" Typical me; I'm more interested in weapons than my impending death.

He nods and walks over to me, leaning down. "Someone actually recognizes it; I'm impressed. The name's Dolcetto," he says, holding out his hand.

Inclining my head at the cord that leaves me unable to move most of my body, I smirk. "Jason, though it's probably best to pass on the handshake at the moment."

Dolcetto winces and stands back up, twisting a hand through his hair absentmindedly. "That's live wire?"

"I'll say that there's a ninety percent chance that I'll end up electrocuted in the next couple of minutes." My voice light, I would shrug again, but I'm kind of afraid that moving will make my -death arrive sooner rather than later.

Now that I think about it, if people regularly carry around any form of katana in this world, then I don't want to die just yet. But that leaves the issue of how to deal with being tangled with electrical wire, which is about as easy to solve as it sounds. There's not really any chance of me getting out of this unharmed.

"You aren't peeing on a fire hydrant again, are you? That's the only reasonable explanation for why you could be taking this long."

Whoever the speaker is, she's leaning in the archway and manages to sound both annoyed and amused at the same time.

Dolcetto seems more aggravated than anything else, clenching his hands into fists and shaking his head stiffly. "That was _one _time when I was drunk! And you can come see for yourself what made me take more than three seconds to see why the power is out. You don't have to make me do everything, you know."

She sighs loudly and walks forward until she's standing right next to him, no longer shrouded in shadow. Her blonde hair is shorter than Dolcetto's, and she has a green tattoo that goes from the lower part of her face to her shoulder.

Her gaze lands on me, and she rolls her eyes, then noticing the entirety of the situation. "Is that _live wire_?"

"Suppose it is," I say casually, but can't help myself from pointing out her weapon. "That's a dagger you have?"

Nodding, she pulls it out of the holster that's strapped to the sleeve of her tank top and twirls it in her hand. "I'm surprised you'd be able to identify it," she says, sheathing it.

"Do you have a weapon fetish?" Dolcetto manages to fake looking wary for about a second.

"I guess so – _ooh_, is that a sledgehammer?"

Yes, the sledgehammer was the first thing that I noticed about the third person to appear from the doorway labeled Devil's Nest.

The man carrying it in his hand is by far the oldest of the trio, complete with fully grayish-white hair and a green outfit that looks vaguely militaristic. His stern expression lightens up when he hears my question, and he dips his head slightly before becoming serious again. "Dolcetto, Martel, what exactly is going on here?"

Martel – I'm assuming that's her name – turns to him and shrugs, gesturing to me. "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but this guy is somehow responsible for the power outage, due to his current entanglement in what used to be our line."

"Uh, if anyone cares, my name is Jason, by the way."

She doesn't even glance at me as she keeps talking like I never spoke. "Anyway, there's still the problem of how to get him out, restore the power, and, if necessary, dispose of the body."

Dolcetto gives me a vaguely sympathetic look after I mutter, "What the heck?" He is the only one paying me any sort of attention, and I'm pretty sure that's only because I could tell what his katana was.

Martel and the old dude are still talking, probably about ways to hide my dead body, but I've given up listening to them. If I die here, I at least want my death to be a surprise.

I raise my hand to wipe sweat off my forehead, and freeze when I see the wire wrapped around it inches from my noise. "Is it really hot here, or is it just me?"

"It's just you," Dolcetto mutters, "but it's probably the adrenaline rush you got from how you ended up like this."

Honestly, I hadn't considered that possibility. "Yeah, that's probably it."

The old guy sighs and turns back towards me. "Getting rid of his body will be troublesome, but I can't think of any other way to get him out." He's still not speaking to me, but to his two little buddies.

"What's he doing here?" Yet another person has walked out of the archway, but it's more of a scurry than anything else, on second glance. Strangely enough, he's wearing a cloak, though it's in the middle of the day, with the hood up and everything. It covers nearly all of his body but doesn't hide the fact that he's extremely short.

I roll my eyes, pausing when he comes nearer and I can see him better. "Is – is that a _tail_?"

Groaning, Dolcetto moves his hand to his face and shakes his head. "Bido, you couldn't have just stayed inside? Now we _really_ have to kill him, even if we could get him out."

The short one – Bido, apparently – throws his hands up, saying, "How was I supposed to know? Nobody told me not to go out!"

"What way would you want to die? We can at least give you a choice," says the old dude.

"Um, if you're letting me choose, old age, please."

Martel rolls her eyes and says, "_Aside_ from old age."

"What have I _told_ you about being friendly to strangers? At this point, nobody's ever going to go into the Devil's Nest." The voice comes from my left and without any warning that someone was standing there.

All four of them jump, obviously startled, but I'm the only one swears like a pirate with access to modern-day curse words.

"That's quite the vocabulary you've got there," he continues, amused.

"Seeing as I can't really move at the moment, it's the only arsenal I've got. It's always best to be prepared."

The speaker walks around me, which finally allows me to see who he is and what he looks like. He's got spiky black hair and a very interesting fashion taste, which I won't waste any time on elaborating. Except that I have to wonder what exactly was going through his head when he got dressed.

He must be more idiotic than I thought he was, because he says, "You do know you don't have to worry about moving, right?"

I stare at him like he's missing the obvious, which he is. "Yeah, I kinda do."

"Technically speaking, the wire around your hand should have electrocuted you by now, and probably would have killed anyone else in your place." He turns around and waves his hand at Martel lazily. "Bring him inside once you've figured out a way to get him out. If he doesn't talk, we might even be able to dissect him for information."

I would ask him what his problem is – in slightly, (well, much) ruder terms, of course – but he starts to walk across the street, heading for the Devil's Nest. Looks like he was actually serious about what he said.

"Mister Greed, how exactly are we supposed to get him out?" Bido asks in his strange voice.

Staring, I ask, "So your name's _Greed_?" What's up with the weird names here?

"_Yes_," he growls in a question-my-name-and-I-will-chop-off-your-head-and-stick-it-on-a-spike-voice. "And what's yours, Princess?"

"Jason," I reply tersely, "and I am a seventeen-year-old boy who will never, _ever_ be a princess."

Greed raises an eyebrow and probably rolls his eyes under those strange-looking glasses that somehow fit perfectly with his strange-looking outfit. "Martel, Roa, Bido, and Dolcetto – you can go inside now. I'll deal with him."

What is with all the ominous people I'm meeting today? It's like there's a freaking signup list.

I don't bother trying to get away, seeing as if I move, I'll get electrocuted; I'll wind up dead both ways. Honestly, it's kind of humiliating, dying at the hands of a man with such a weird choice of clothes.

The three weapon-wielders, and the dude with a _tail_, walk back towards the archway. Dolcetto gives me a grimace right before he walks back in. Maybe that's his way of saying, "I'm sorry you are going to die." If so, he needs to work on his way of communicating, because it totally sucks.

After the strange quartet vanishes from my sight, Greed turns to me and sighs when he sees me staring up at him. "Get up," he snaps, tapping his foot impatiently.

I blink at him, not comprehending why in the world he would think I'd untangle myself from live wire solely for the purpose of promptly getting killed and-or dissected.

How much of an idiot does he think I am? Whatever it is, I'm not nearly at that level yet.

He opens his mouth and closes it, shaking his head like I don't understand – the fact that I don't is entirely irrelevant – and mutters, "Oh, for Father's sake!"

That's a peculiar euphemism, if I'm using my words correctly.

"Are you stupid? The longer you sit there, the worse it's going to get, you moron!"

I will admit that I have a bit of a temper sometimes. Okay, it's more like a piece of paper just waiting for a match to burn it all up. But what really ticks me off is when people insult me, and I'm pretty sure a person who's about to kill me insulting me is ten times worse in the grand scheme of things.

Yes, I am friends with someone who incessantly belittles me and calls me a variety of insults, and she's one of the only people that I can actually stand. Not to mention a complete psycho with an obsession with British actors with unpronounceable names.

That makes up my mind in an instant. I won't let any more people mock me; never again.

I slowly raise both of my hands up and glance at the wire wrapped around one of them, trying to find where it started. When I do, I cautiously grab it, wincing for no reason at all, since I don't end up convulsing.

"Take your time," he sighs, "it's not like you could get electrocuted at any second."

I glare up at him and continue disentangling myself at a slightly faster pace than I had before. "It's almost like you think I'm enjoying this."

Finally, I manage to untangle myself enough to actually be able to get up onto my feet shakily. Panting, I rub my head with the back of my hand once I've maneuvered over the wire lying on the ground.

He looks me over skeptically, asking, "Were you _that_ scared of death via electrocution? You're sweating like a pig."

"Pigs are incapable of sweating," I point out, still breathless, "and I wasn't scared, it's just the incredibly high temperature here."

"Then it's a good thing that phrase is a reference to pig iron and not the stupid animal." He pauses before he continues talking. "And it's only fifteen degrees out."

That should leave me an ice sculpture right now, unless he's not talking about the Fahrenheit scale. "You mean Celsius, right?" There's a much-better chance of avoiding Popsicle-me if it's actually fifty-nine degrees instead of fifteen.

Greed nods like I'm a complete and utter idiot, but it's not my fault America is insistent on using its own measurements instead of the ones used by most of the rest of the world. Glancing at the wires, he looks back up at me, seeming to be thinking of something. This cannot possibly be any good.

"Why are you making that expression?" I'm starting to feel wary now, more than I was before.

He smirks, revealing shark-like teeth, and pulls his sunglasses off, staring at me with unblinking purple eyes. "It's most likely a dangerously high fever due to absorbing and holding electricity for a long amount of time. Anyways, have you ever sent bolts of energy at people before? That would be extremely helpful in avoiding your death."

I shake my head and wonder what the heck he could mean.

Sighing, Greed raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes as if dealing with a disobedient child, like how The Great Big Blob did. "You have _got_ to make this difficult, don't you?"

With that, he grabs my arm just below the elbow – cursed short sleeves, always finding some way of betraying me – and ignores my confused stare and muttered, "Do you even know the definition of personal space, dude?"

I suppose I should be more polite, but I don't have time to think about it, because the burning sensation starts flowing out of me, starting from where he has my arm in a death grip.

His hold on my arm tightens even more as he starts to spasm uncontrollably, trying to curse under his breath but choking on the words when they are halfway out of his mouth. After a full minute of this, he stops, eyes rolled back, and becomes unnervingly still.

For a moment, everything is quiet, aside from me screaming and cursing at the top of my lungs, of course.

Jolting awake, he glares at me and punches me in the nose, which stops me from making any noise at all. "Will you _ever_ shut up?" He groans while unclenching his hand from my arm and waving it in the air.

I'm about to shake my head and give one of my trademark replies when Dolcetto rushes out of the Devil's Nest, followed by the three other people. "You're not dead yet," he comments.

Martel stops when she sees the scene and says, "We heard _somebody_ being incredibly loud and obnoxious. Do you _want_ to have people swarming over here to see what's wrong?"

Greed nods vigorously, running a hand through his hair and exclaiming, "Exactly!" He shoves his glasses back on. "We need the business, and people certainly aren't coming because of your stunning personalities." He saunters back into the archway without looking back once, quickly tailed by Bido. Hmm, that's a pun.

Does he have some sort of red tattoo on his hand? I can't tell, and I'm certainly not asking.

By now, I've managed to make an educated guess about what lies beyond the doorway. "Is he – letting me stay around alcoholic beverages before I get dissected?"

Martel punches me in the arm, _hard_, and says, "Not a chance, and he doesn't seem like he'll make us dissect you anymore, which is a good thing for you."

Yeah, I kind of could tell.

Grinning, Dolcetto adds, "You can be our driver if things go wrong, like they normally do. That position's usually reserved for Roa, but he's probably going to still have to stay sober when Greed's with us."

"He downed what, ten shots of tequila in five minutes?"

The old guy – Roa, I vaguely recall – answers Martel's question, stone-faced. "Twelve, but then he kept going after Dolcetto had passed out in the bathroom and you and Ulchi had started that bar fight with that one man."

"I did _not_ pass out in the bathroom!"

"_Bido_ had to help me drag you out before you started barking at strangers, since Ulchi was busy pounding a guy's head in and Roa was busy with Greed."

Roa shakes his head and mutters, "You make it sound so dirty."

Martel sighs and rolls her eyes. "And Roa was busy stopping Greed from showing the bartender a 'magic trick' by picking him up and throwing him into the car, which isn't that easy to do."

Dolcetto stares at her in disbelief and asks, "Since when was _Bido _there?"

She throws her hands up in exasperation. "You were _sitting_ on him the whole ride there!"

"I literally have no recollection of the entire–"

Roa interrupts him by slamming his sledgehammer into the palm of his hand loudly and stalking pointedly over to the Devil's Nest, disappearing into it.

"–Night," Dolcetto finishes weakly and rushes after him while still asking questions.

Will this happen all the time? I widen my eyes, picturing it in horror.

Catching my eye, Martel bursts out laughing at my expression. "Yeah, they're like this all the time," she says, walking over to the doorway and going in.

I stand outside for a second, staring blankly at nothing in particular and thinking that I probably should run away while I still have legs. Then I steel myself and roll my eyes, strolling in despite knowing that it's a horrible idea, really. There's no backing out of it now, but, then again, what do I have to lose?

* * *

"Hello again," sighs The Great Big Blob when I realize I'm standing in front of it another time. "I had hoped I wouldn't have seen you for a very long while, but it seems that isn't the case."

Yeah, for some reason, I'm in that stupid white place that I have no idea where or what exactly it is. "The feeling's mutual, buddy."

It rolls its eyes – despite not having any – and continues, "There's one thing I have to explain to you before allowing you to continue on your merry little way with your gang of chimera and a Homunculus. You've already found out that you can absorb electrical energy, correct?" It sees me nod and says, "You can also expel it after you have taken it in."

"I can control electricity?" I ask skeptically.

"Correct, but you've seen what happens when you hold on to it too long. It's not all sunshine and rainbows." The Great Big Blob stares at me. "And, with that, I'll take my leave and dismiss you back to your strange group of friends."

And I'm standing in a room, facing the weapons-bearing trio, without any recollection of how I ended up here, but at least I'm not talking to The Great Big Blob anymore. Man, that thing gets an A+ for annoying me. That's really an accomplishment; most people just get an A.

None of them seem to notice that my mind was in another place, talking to a formless creature – really, simple-formed creature would be more accurate, but I don't care.

"So, you said you saw that Bido had a _tail_?" Martel asks, faking casualness.

What exactly am I supposed to say to that; _yes, yes I did. Care to explain why?_ I sigh and lean against the wall behind me, saying, "Suppose so."

Despite my air of nonchalance, I do really want to know why exactly that dude had a tail; it's not really something I see every day.

"You do realize that if Greed hadn't told us not to kill you, you'd be dead now, right?" Roa asks, still holding his massive sledgehammer with only one hand as if it didn't probably weigh twenty pounds.

Nodding, I say, "Yup."

Martel raises her eyebrows at me and rolls her eyes. "You don't seem to be very concerned by that."

"Nope," I drawl, shrugging. "I'm more concerned by the fact that people here have _tails_ and it's a secret that you'd kill to protect."

"If Greed trusts you, then I can," Dolcetto says. "We're chimeras created by the military."

"Chimeras – like, fire-breathing crosses between lions, goats, and snakes? No offense, but are you crazy or something?"

Dolcetto stares at me before replying, "Chimeras as in people combined with animals to form hybrids. Officially, we don't exist."

"They combined me with a cow," Roa says, "Martel's part snake and Dolcetto's a dog, and Bido is part lizard."

People can actually do that in this world? That's a surprise, to say the least.

"Uh… And what's Greed, part shark?" That's the most likely option, in my opinion, at least. The teeth, the glasses, the strange fashion sense; they all added up to a neon-green sign reading in bright letters, _INCOMING SHARK_.

Shaking her head, Martel corrects, "He's not a chimera at all."

"I'm a Homunculus," Greed says as he strolls in from out of nowhere, giving me a heart attack. "You do know what that means, right?"

"No, not really," I say, "I don't; am I supposed to?"

He gives me a look that clearly means that he thinks I'm a complete and utter moron. "I'm an artificially created human. I'm not kidding," he adds when he sees my glance of bewilderment. "Really, do I look like I'm joking?"

"Well, when I look at your fashion sense, I'm pretty sure the answer is yes," I mutter under my breath.

Dolcetto starts laughing but immediately stops when Greed swivels around to glare at him.

"Not funny," Greed growls at him, then at me, "I'm being perfectly serious. Do you want me to prove it to you?"

I shake my head and say, "Um, that would be nice, but I'll take your word for it. You don't seem that crazy." Given that he's the only thing standing between me and death, I'll believe what he clearly thinks is true, at least for now.

"That's probably for the best," Roa sighs, "it would've been me who would have had to do the honors, and I'm sick of knocking people's heads off for a cheap party trick."

Since when is knocking people's heads off a cheap party trick? I resist the urge to ask him.

"Finally, someone who takes me at my word and doesn't make me prove it. I'm tired of using up my Philosopher's Stone to make people believe me." Greed takes off his glasses, revealing his strange eyes again. On second thought, he could be combined with a cat instead of a shark, including his sharp demeanor.

I tilt my head at him and push myself off of the wall, asking, "Philosopher's Stone? What's that, like the British version of the Sorcerer's Stone in Harry Potter?"

"Man, you're talking a bunch of crap right now. What the hell are British, the Sorcerer's Stone, and Harry Potter?" Martel is standing right next to me, and she looks at me like _I'm_ the crazy one.

Nobody else seems to recognize these _completely normal_ terms. Maybe it's because I'm – and they're – in another world, one without the brilliance of Britain and its natural resources. But I am not one to judge; that would be Lorelei and her obsession with all things British.

"Just something from where I grew up," I say, trying to change the subject. "On another note, are there any more of you artificially created humans?"

"Homunculi," Greed corrects, "and yes. I'm not sure how many there are now, but there were plans to make seven altogether. I ditched them a long time ago; can't be bothered to serve any person but myself."

He's a little bit self-centered, I think, but aren't we all? "So there's probably six, uh, Homunculi aside from you out there, wandering and generally causing chaos?"

"Yeah, and they're not nearly as nice as me. But enough about that, I'm in the mood to go bar hopping and you guys should probably come along too to stop me from doing something I'd regret in the morning."

Dolcetto groans, "You do realize we _live_ in a bar, right?"

Greed waves his hand and rolls his eyes. "It's not nearly as much fun getting drunk in your own house. Besides, we can get the kid used to our strange routine."

"My name is Jason," I correct, "_Jason_. It's not that hard to remember, considering it is normal in comparison to yours."

"It's not _my_ fault my dad had a strange fetish for the seven deadly sins. And let's get going."

Five minutes later, I'm tossed unceremoniously into the backseat of an ancient-looking car.

"I do not like this," I mutter to Dolcetto as I'm shoved further against the door as yet another chimera – Ulchi, crocodile – enters. Roa is driving, while Greed and Bido are sitting shotgun; I'm pretty sure the latter is only allowed up front because of his tail. So far, the back is comprised of me, then Dolcetto, Martel, and now Ulchi. It's like a clown car with five chimeras, a human, and a Homunculus, which makes it seem like it belongs in a circus even more.

"Me too," Dolcetto whispers back, wincing as Martel accidentally elbows him in the side. "I've gotten used to it over time. It's always worse on the ride back, though most of us are out of it by then."

Greed sighs and moves as far away from Bido as he can when they're sitting in the same seat. "That's it, just start driving, Roa, before anyone else tries to get in!"

"That is a very good idea," I say louder, my face smashed against the window. "This car is like a can of sardines."

Martel leans forward around Dolcetto to stare at me. "What is it with you and your bizarre phrases?"

Maybe it hasn't come into popular use yet?

I'm about to reply when Roa slams on the brakes and the car lurches to a stop, my head hitting the back of the driver's seat. "We're here," he says gruffly, getting out.

I scrabble for the door handle and open it, falling to the ground in my haste to get out. "Free at last," I say, not even caring that I landed on my elbows, and they're probably bleeding from the collision.

Dolcetto crawls out over me, landing inches from my head, and pulls me to my feet. "Trust me; it only gets worse over time."

It does? I might have to ditch them very soon, or avoid going on these little outings.

The bar is across the street and right before a shady-looking alleyway. The sign above it simply reads _Bar_, so I'm not giving the owners points for creativity. They also couldn't be bothered to choose a nicer area, so I don't know what to think.

A huge bouncer is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and exuding a general mean, or simply annoyed, demeanor. "Oh, not you again," he groans, shaking his head. "I won't allow him in anymore, not after the brawl he started last time." He points directly at Ulchi.

Ulchi seems offended, but Greed turns to him and shakes his head, saying, "It's your own fault. Find your way back to the Devil's Nest." The crocodile chimera stalks off the way we came.

Martel is the first one to go into the bar, though the bouncer glares at her.

It's probably due to the fact that she had also been in the fight.

Dolcetto follows her, and Bido trails behind him, somehow managing to hide his tail in his cloak thingy. Pity he couldn't have done that when he first saw me.

"Whoa," the bouncer says when I'm about to go in, "how old are you exactly?"

"Seventeen," I state, drawing it out so it's almost like a question.

"Then you'll have to wait outside. The boss doesn't want anyone under eighteen going inside. He says it's because there's a mass of people like your newfound friends always in there."

That's a relief, to say the least. I had no interest in going into a bar full of disorderly people. "Then I'll just walk around while you get drunk on tequila. That's not something I want to see."

Not one to argue, Greed shrugs and continues inside, leaving me outside.

"You said you were going to take a walk, not stand here," growls the bouncer.

"Right," I say, hurriedly leaving and wandering down the street until I see the Devil's Nest five minutes later. Did we really drive to a bar that's within walking distance? Getting crushed like that was _not_ worth it.

I keep walking past it and let my mind wander as I do. A few minutes later, I find myself in front of a store labelled _MEAT_. The lights are on, so I go up to the door and open it, strolling inside. I don't have any better way to spend my time.

A boy about my age is sitting behind the counter, reading a book and not paying any attention to his surroundings. He finally glances up, and his face furrows in confusion. "Jason? Why the heck are you here?"

Wait; dark skin and hair, a look of permanent annoyance, I know who he is, and he isn't from here. "Damon? The Great Big Blob sent you here too?"

Damon closes his book and stares at me in shock, asking, "The – The Great Big Blob?"

"Yeah, the one who emanated darkness and didn't even have a mouth but spoke regardless."

He rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, you mean the Truth, but why did it bring you here?"

"It said it was bored, so it dragged five people here to watch what happens. It told me that it picked you first, then me, and Lorelei's the next one, but I don't know the other two."

"Yeah, I figured that out too." He stands up and leans over the counter, continuing, "But why would it pick the three of us? We're not even friends anymore."

That much is true, I will admit. Joined by mutual hatred towards the staff of our after-school program, we formed a power-trio of sorts, with Damon being Poseidon, me Zeus, and Lorelei Hades. I'm clearly the leader, Lorelei's the cynical one obsessed with death and morbidity, and that leaves Damon as the ruler of the sea, despite the fact that he can't swim. Close enough.

Or I could use the Beauty, Brains, and Brawn archetypes, with Damon obviously being Brawn, given that he's the most athletically inclined. She and I alternate between being Beauty and Brains, because, while she's more book-smart, she's also the more convincing liar and can easily persuade people to do what she wants. All in all, it depends on the day.

Then there's always Fire, Ice, and Lightning; in which I'm Fire, Damon's Lighting, and Lorelei's Ice.

Anyways, this screwed-up alliance quickly faded once he and I had a huge fight and she had to serve as the mediator. She sucked at being the mediator, so it all crashed and burned. Now, whenever we see each other, I try to diffuse the situation by telling inappropriate jokes, Damon stands there awkwardly, and Lorelei glares at me and shoves her headphones in to play songs with titles like _Release the Panic _and _Feed the Machine_. No really, those are legit song titles.

"It must be crazy, thinking this would work," I say. "We'd sooner kill each other than work with each other." More accurately, Damon and I would kill each other while Lorelei would stare at us, wondering how she ever befriended people like us.

He nods and asks, "So, where are you staying?"

Uh, saying that I'm staying with chimeras and a Homunculus at a bar doesn't sound too good.

"Currently, at the Devil's Nest. It's a bar–"

"–Yeah, I know what it is; Greed's bar, practically crawling with chimeras." He interrupts and gradually lowers his voice, so by the time he says the last word, it's barely a whisper.

"How did you know that?" I ask, my voice slightly higher than its normal pitch, and by slightly, I mean mouse-like.

Damon sighs and glances around the empty store before replying, "I know a lot about where we are. Like people's identities and what's going to happen. It was all in an anime I've seen nearly all of, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood."

I stare at him like he's insane. "You're saying we're in a TV show? How crazy are you?"

"This Greed of yours, he's got an unusual fashion sense and claims to be a Homunculus, right? And he has a red tattoo of an Ouroboros on his left hand?"

"How do I know you haven't met him already and that you're not trying to pull my leg?"

Groaning, Damon says, "Can't you just take me at my word for once? _You're_ the compulsive liar, for goodness sake!"

"I'm not a compulsive liar!" I exclaim, taking a deep breath to calm myself after. "But let's say I believe you. Then what? Should we just wait until Lorelei comes to us? Because we don't have any money at all, and we can't go searching for her while broke."

He shrugs and seems to be mulling over something. "Our best bet is probably to keep waiting here. She knows everything that happens, even more than I do, so she should be okay."

"Fine, I guess," I say, "but how long should we wait? I'm not one to stay in one place for long."

"As long as it takes," he says decisively, like he's going to argue with me if I disagree. "It should be safe here until Ed and Al come, and who knows how long that'll be. By then, I'll have time to warn you to stay away from the Devil's Nest."

"Why should I stay away from there?"

Damon rolls his eyes. "There's going to be a raid by the military, led by Fuhrer Bradley, who is another Homunculus. All the chimeras are going to be massacred, and he's going to take Greed to the maker of the Homunculi, where he'll be melted down to his core and reincarnated later."

Dolcetto, Martel, Roa, Bido, Ulchi, and Greed, all of them are going to die? "Shouldn't we, you know, try to stop it? I'm not going to let them all get murdered by this Fuhrer Bradley dude!"

"If we don't follow the plot, then anything could happen! He'd find you and then you'd be dead too."

"You can be content to sit back and watch everything happen, but I'm not! I _will_ stop this from happening, and you can count on that, even if I need to take on this Bradley myself."

Damon slams his hand down onto the counter as he says, "Don't be stupid! You'll be killed for sure if you try to fight him – he's Wrath and he's the second most powerful of the Homunculi. You won't stand a chance, not against him!"

I shrug and lean forward until our faces are inches apart. "Do I look like I freaking care? I'm not one to rely on fate, and I _will_ change this, you can bet on that." I swivel around and storm out without looking back.

Soon, I'm back in the Devil's Nest, not in any better mood at all. I glare at any chimera I pass, taking my anger out on them instead of at the source, because they're around and I'm ready to explode. Greed and the others haven't come back yet, so I sit against the wall of the room I was in earlier, waiting impatiently. How long does it take for them to get completely drunk?

Apparently, a very long time, because I'm sitting there for hours before I hear a commotion and peer out into the hall to see Greed collapse on the floor.

Dolcetto is standing right behind him and shakes his head wearily, his eyes unfocused. "He just kept downing shot after shot, and it's like he isn't human," he slurs before slumping against the wall and running a hand through his hair.

"He isn't human," Martel drawls, having walked up behind him – well, it's more like stumbled. "Neither are we."

"Oh right," he says, making his way down the hallway to what I assume is his room. "I forgot." He staggers into a doorway and I hear the sound of him crashing on what's probably a bed.

Martel rolls her eyes, but the movement is overdramatic, like she can't control them. "What a moron," she sighs, walking down the hall and disappearing from my sight.

This leaves me alone with an unconscious Homunculus who isn't going anywhere. Crap.

"Greed," I say, kicking him not-so-gently, "get up. Get _up_." He doesn't move, so I kick him yet again and hope in vain for a foghorn to come floating down from the heavens and into my hand to wake him up with. Nothing like that happens, so I simply groan and walk off to the first room I can find that isn't occupied, leaving him passed out on the ground.

What? It isn't my problem; if I start now, then soon they'll _expect _me to take care of them, and I can't let that happen.

Nope, I'm not the type of person who takes care of other people, not one bit.

The room's large but vaguely box-like, with a bed shoved into each corner and a dresser next to both of them. Otherwise, I don't see anything else; I fall onto one of the beds and fall asleep.

* * *

"This's my room."

I jerk awake and lurch upwards at the voice, which turns out to be a no-longer-unconscious Greed, standing in the doorway in a way that would be ominous if it wasn't him. "Dude, there's two beds."

"But it's mine. Get out."

"No," I say, smashing my head back down onto the pillow and turning my face away from him. "I'm staying here." Maybe, if I ignore him, he'll go away.

Turns out that Homunculi don't take being ignored very well, seeing as he storms over to me and drags me out of the room by my elbow. "Find your own room."

Does he get his nails _sharpened_ or something? It really, _really_ hurts.

He slams the door in my face and leaves me alone in the hallway, rubbing my arm and staring at the indentations his fingers made in my skin. "That's not cool, man!" I yell at the door, turning and stalking down the first direction I see, and just happen to crash into – over, really – Bido.

"Sorry," he hisses, "did Mister Greed kick you out of his room? That's the only empty one right now, so you'll have some trouble finding out where to sleep. Everywhere else is crawling with chimeras."

I shrug and pick myself off the ground, frowning. "Then I'll sleep in the bathtub." They have to have a tub, right? It goes with the basic laws of hygiene, but then again, they're _chimeras_.

"No, no," Bido exclaims, waving his stubby arms frantically. "Ulchi is passed out there now, and you don't want to wake him up, especially when he couldn't go drinking with the rest of us. He gets very mad when he's not allowed to come along."

"Does that happen often?"

He nods and says, "So far, he's been kicked out of every bar in Dublith except the Devil's Nest."

I sigh and nod absentmindedly. "Yeah, I'll be avoiding Ulchi for a while. Is there anywhere else I could go, at least for the night?"

"Um…" Bido seems reluctant to tell me what he's thinking.

"Just tell me!"

"I, uh, do know a way into Mister Greed's room, if you'd rather stay in there than with a whole bunch of other chimeras."

Would I rather brave the wrath of one drunken Homunculus or a whole slew of chimeras, Ulchi in particular? For now, I'll go with the former. "I'll take Greed, if it's one or the other."

He runs his hand over his head nervously and says, "Follow me, I'll show you to where you can sneak in." I do, and he leads me down another hallway to a small closet. He glances around for a moment before removing a panel close to the ground that leads into darkness. "Just be quiet, even though he can sleep through anything."

Honestly, this is like a big neon green sign pointing at him and proclaiming _STALKER_, but I'm not going to tell him that. "Thanks, I guess." I'd probably have to explain what neon is.

I curse inwardly when I notice how _tiny_ the opening is, but somehow manage to fit through and end up in the room. It's lit up faintly by the light from the hall streaming in, but of course Bido has to replace the panel, causing it to be pitch-black. Crap.

I crawl forward and end up banging my head on something, then jerking back and sending that thing crashing to the floor with a… crash.

"Why the _hell_ are you in my room?" Greed practically screams at me, the lights suddenly on.

Putting my hand in front of my eyes, I yell back, "I just need a place to sleep, okay? I'm not ever sharing the bathtub with Ulchi!"

He sighs loudly and flops back down onto his bed, shaking his head disbelievingly. "How exactly did you even get in here?"

Oh, your creepy lizard-chimera thing let me in through a loose panel in your closet! Really, you shouldn't be surprised, considering he practically radiates stalker vibes. "I was going to sleep in a random closet I found, but I smashed my head against a panel and it fell off. You can see the direction I'm going in, right?"

"Just turn the light off, will ya? And I'll rip your throat out if you talk in your sleep."

I stand up and look around, wondering what I knocked over, and see I had bumped into a table in the corner that I hadn't seen before. "Uh, sure," I say, stumbling over to the ancient-looking light switch and turning it off before going over to the empty bed and falling onto it.

And a question rises in my mind, one that I absolutely have to ask, so I say, "Um, Greed?"

"_What_?" His voice makes it clear that he really, _really_ doesn't want to be talking right now.

"Um, so there are more Homunculi, right? Each named after one of the seven deadly sins?" I think he nods – hard to tell when it's dark – so I continue, "Do you happen to know a Wrath?"

"I ditched them long before Wrath was made," he says. "Had bigger plans than being Father's bodyguard for all of eternity."

"Who is Father? I heard you say his name earlier like you were swearing."

He lets out a loud sound vaguely reminiscent of a sigh and probably shakes his head, muttering something to himself before saying, "He's the one who created all of the Homunculi. There's Pride, then Lust and me, then Envy, Sloth, and Gluttony. He's probably got a Wrath now. Back when the six of us were all there, it was practically a freak show."

I vaguely recognize one of the names, which is slightly disturbing, but I'm sure as hell not going to tell him that. "So, do your, uh, siblings look like you?"

"Thankfully, no," he snorts, "I got all of the good genes in the _family_, if you could call it that."

"Judging by the way you look, I'm going to have to say that they're abysmal."

Even though I can't see anything in this darkness, I swear I can feel the weight of his glare as it burns into my head. "How about I just tell you all about them, since that's what you really want to know?" He pauses for a second, but I don't say anything, too embarrassed to speak. "Pride's the oldest, but he permanently looks like he's about ten. But his body is a container for his true form, which is basically a living shadow. Given that he was made from Father's pride, he can be prideful. And he tends to dress like he's in an ad for a business commercial; he has black hair and purplish-black eyes, just like nearly everyone else in the family."

"Wait, what do you mean, he permanently looks like he's about ten, and his body is a container for shadows? And how could he be made from Father's pride?" This doesn't make any sense at all.

Greed most definitely rolls his eyes – I can _hear_ it – and says, "I don't remember exactly, but he is over three hundred years old. His shadow usually resides in his ten-year-old body, unless he needs to do something else, or he's using it as a weapon. And we're all made from Father's deadly sins – Pride from his pride, Lust from his lust, me from his–"

"Yeah, I get it, I get it. It's still pretty messed up, though."

"We're Homunculi; we get that a lot. Next there's Lust, who's the only girl, except maybe for Wrath, but I wouldn't know that."

An image of Lorelei chasing me around with a chainsaw, screaming about how I shouldn't insult the Tenth Doctor or Benedict Cumberbatch, comes into my mind, and I shudder.

He seems to think something along the same lines. "Let's hope Wrath is a guy. Anyways, Lust dresses rather provocatively, given that she's _Lust_, which means dresses that show everyone everything they didn't want to see. She's very good at manipulating people, especially men. Or most men, I should say. She can extend her fingernails into wicked-sharp spears. Just like Pride and me, she has black hair and purple eyes. She's around two hundred and fifty years old."

"Do all of you have strange powers and weird fashion senses?"

"Yes. Then there's me, who I'll go back to later. Envy's next; he's a shape-shifter, but the form he usually takes is a really androgynous teenager with still-purple eyes and green hair that looks like a palm tree. He usually wears a headband, a skirt-thingy, and a shirt that's only half a shirt. He and I have never gotten along, mainly because I'm constantly calling him ugly, which he is."

Crap. I had remembered Lorelei constantly telling me that I'm a shape-shifting palm tree called Envy, but I never had any idea what she was talking about. "Since he is a shape-shifter, strictly he doesn't have any gender, right?"

"His real form is either a tiny worm or a huge monster, so I guess not, but Father calls him a guy and, back when I was there, you disrespect Father and Father will kill you. Next is Sloth, who is a hulking giant of a Homunculus whose main function is to dig a tunnel. He wears a messed-up version of workout clothes, or something along that nature, since he's always digging. While he has super strength and, though rarely, super speed, he's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

Kids, don't do steroids, or you'll end up being forced to dig a tunnel forever. But what happens when he finishes digging?

"Lastly, there's Gluttony, who's extremely fat and literally eats anything. And I mean anything; his stomach has a tendency to open up and he's sucked in cars, houses, stone murals, et cetera. He also eats people; it's disgusting to watch, but he mostly swallows them whole. That's all you really need to know about him."

"You have a living shadow creature posing as a fifth grader, a manipulator-slash-prostitute, a genderless cross-dresser, a bodybuilder on steroids, and a ravenous being as your siblings? No wonder you dress like that."

Greed doesn't reply, and I think he's ignoring me, but I hear his breathing deepen and realize he has fallen asleep while I was talking. He hadn't even talked about himself, the sneaky bugger! But I should probably sleep too, since falling out of the sky and talking to The Great Big Blob can be draining, I'm sure.

I've barely closed my eyes when I fall asleep.

* * *

It is a few hours later when I end up falling off the bed and crashing to the ground. Basically, it hurts about twice as much as it sounds, given that the floor is concrete and my head is the first thing it makes contact with.

"Oh come _on_," I mutter, slamming my fist against the floor and standing up shakily. Due to the room probably being underground and windows therefore would make no sense, it's still dark in here. I groan and make my way to where I remember the door is and then scrabble for the handle.

Once I go into the hallway, I see – of course – Bido standing against the wall, staring up at me with his unblinking eyes.

"Hi."

"I was just about to wake you," he says, rubbing his hands together nervously. "You see, it's time for breakfast, and it being your first morning here, the others didn't want you to miss it."

Nice of him to say _the others_, but it's too optimistic to think that a lizard chimera would have empathy. On second thought, that's probably not the best word for it, but enough on my inner monologue, because that's boring.

I simply ask, "And what about Greed?"

"Oh, Mister Greed doesn't like it when we wake him. That's why Dolcetto sent me to wake you up, because of the last time. Now, if you'll come after me." Bido turns and walks down the hall without a second glance back at me.

I speed walk after him, glaring at the back of his splotchy bald head as if looks could kill, but he is rapidly increasing the distance between us. "Wait up! If you told me to follow you, the least you could do is have some decency and wait."

He pauses for as long as it takes for me to catch up, and then speeds off again. This disjointed adventure repeats until we reach what I suspect is the actual barroom part of the Devil's Nest.

"Hey," Martel says when she notices my appearance, "Sleeping Beauty finally awakens."

"I'm not a princess, Martel," I spit. "If anyone's a princess, it's Greed."

"You might not want to say that," Dolcetto says, leaning on the counter as if he would fall to the ground without it. "He has ears everywhere, and wouldn't be happy about your nickname."

"Yeah, he's a Homunculus," I say, the word still uncertain on my tongue, "but come on. You really believe that crap?"

Ulchi – yeah, he _does_ look like he passed out in a bathtub – glares at me and looks around like he thinks Greed might be watching. "Just shut up and get out the booze," he growls at Martel.

"Uh, Mister Greed says that you're not supposed to touch the alcohol without buying any, and you don't want to make him mad," chimes in Bido, who's standing at the edge of the bar with an expression of uncertainty.

About to say something – most likely a string of swears – back, Ulchi freezes when he glances somewhere over my shoulder.

"Unless you have money, please stay away from the alcohol, and that goes to all of you, Jason especially."

I flinch at Greed's voice echoing from behind me. "I can't even legally be in bars; you expect me to pilfer drinks from you?"

"Yes." Not only is it Greed who speaks, but also Roa, Ulchi, Martel, Dolcetto and Bido. Or, all of the people in the room, except for me, can now agree on something.

Sighing at his bluntness, I say, "Speaking in unison like that is the first step to a cult, you realize? Pretty soon, you'll be chanting ominous Latin hymns and sacrificing the neighbor's gardenias in the name of the sun god."

"I'm more inclined to chant ominous Amestrian hymns, but I do have an opening for Fridays if you want to introduce this _Latin_ language to my neighborhood cult."

I stare at Roa. Of all the people in the Devil's Nest that I expected to be sarcastic yet totally deadpan, he was the last one. "Ah," is all I can manage to say.

Dolcetto groans and walks into a hallway that I haven't seen before. Due to how early it is, I presume it leads to the kitchens, but I'm not inclined to go after him just yet.

Greed taps me on the shoulder. "Really, if you even _think_ about touching the alcohol, I will slice both of your hands off and force you to drink _that_."

Instead of asking him how it's possible to _drink_ amputated hands, I roll my eyes and wonder if this is what normalcy will look like for who-knows-how-long.

The thing is that I can't bring myself to mind. It really isn't so bad, even if I have to room with a Homunculus and live with chimeras that probably don't know the concept of showering. Still.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Title_: Fire It Up is another song by Thousand Foot Krutch. The lyrics from the beginning of the chapter are from it.

_Power Lines_: The early twentieth-century power lines are obviously different from modern-day ones. Amestrian power lines would be even more different than ours because, in Amestris, alchemy developed before science. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, simple power lines were being constructed in America, so I'm assuming that certain developed cities in Amestris, like Dublith, would have some aboveground power lines.

_Jason's Power_: To explain it simply, Jason can absorb electricity when he comes into contact with it. The longer he's in contact with it, the more he absorbs, which'll prove to be extremely dangerous. If he's taught how to do so, he'll also be able to shoot electricity with his hands like a lightning bolt.

* * *

Thanks to all of my (four) reviewers! I didn't think I'd get that much for the first chapter. Yes, I am being serious, not sarcastic.

Review if you want to or if you feel led to. Feel free to ask questions or state your thoughts on characters or the plot. Also, _please_ inform me if you see any mistakes (grammatical errors, incorrect spellings, canon characters being out of character, wrong facts from the show, wrong facts from our world, etc.)

And thanks again to everyone who reads this!


	3. Welcome to the Masquerade

**Current Status**

Damon Pythias: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

Jason Pelion: Staying at the Devil's Nest in Dublith with Greed and various chimeras.

* * *

Part One: The Invitation

**Chapter Three – Welcome to the Masquerade**

"_Take a look around at the sea of masks and come one, come all, welcome to the grand ball where the strong run for cover and the weak stand tall."_

* * *

Lorelei Clemens

"Are you _ever_ going to wake up?" The voice is strangely layered, simultaneously laced with derision and amusement.

My face is shoved against the ground in a way that should be painful but isn't. I try to prop myself up on my elbows so I can see, but I only end up bashing my nose and forehead on a floor that is most decidedly not in my room.

"Just give me a second, alright?" Is what I mean to say, but it comes out as an unintelligible mix of words.

Determined to eventually stand up at all costs, I put my hands palm-down, shoving myself into a sitting position. Only then do I allow myself to open my eyes.

Wherever I am, it's all white, to the point of making me slam my eyes closed and screech at the top of my lungs a combination of words that probably mean, "Too – bright – it – _burns_!"

"Shall I give you a few trillion years to get used to the light?" If a thousand bees could speak in near-complete unison, they would sound like this mysterious voice.

Wait – why does a blindingly white place with a creepy (currently disembodied) voice seem so familiar?

When I open my eyes this time, I bite my lip to distract myself from closing them on impact. All that accomplished was filling my mouth with a disgusting coppery taste. Spitting out the blood, I look up.

A blob-like thing that vaguely looks like a human being is standing about five feet in front of me.

If I had any less self-control, I would belt out a combination of words that would make a pirate blush. But, seeing as I pride myself on my ability to keep quiet around shockingly idiotic people, I settle for a simple question. "You're the Truth, aren't you?" Hell. _Hell_, fricking _hell_.

"Someone actually knows my name! I do have to say that's a first. None of the others did, though one clearly recognized me and kept asking questions that revealed that he didn't know everything about this world."

Well, how about that? Bring on the shock and disbelief choir. They specialize in gospel music.

I glance at it and shakily get up onto my feet, leaning my hands on my knees to keep standing up. "There's more than one?"

Suddenly having a mouth, the Truth turns its face towards me and smiles. "Of course there's more than one. You're the third of five."

"Five – don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

"That isn't my problem," the Truth says, now pacing, as if a nearly amorphous blob-creature could get restless. "The first one was the boy who I mentioned earlier; he eventually told me that he hated my guts, which must be a euphemism from your world. He didn't seem to like me very much; I wonder why."

I raise an eyebrow, despite the fact that my eyes are watering from the sheer brightness. "You say you know everything, right? And who are the rest of these people?"

The Truth shrugs, grinning even more. "I suppose you are right. The second was a boy who told himself that this was his punishment for staying up past three playing first-person shooter games. And then there is a girl – who happens to be you – who's disappointing in comparison. As for the next two, they haven't come through yet, but I can confirm you know them."

"For the love of Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch," I mutter, raising my hand to slam it against my forehead on each syllable. "I know both of these people, and apparently the rest."

"That's the whole point. A group of complete strangers wouldn't work half as well." It pointed at me, grinning broadly.

As if it had anything to be happy about, living in a pure-white void with merely a freakishly tall and currently nonexistent door for company. If this place has constant access to Wi-Fi, it would be a different story, but it doesn't seem likely.

"You do realize we're all going to get killed in a variety of entertaining ways, right?"

The Truth seems vaguely interested – then again, it's hard to tell what a silhouette is feeling, especially when it only mutters, "Are you?"

"Damon will most likely go looking for a scarred serial killer, try to befriend him, and probably end up annoying him to the point of getting his face blown up." Why anyone would try to be all friendly with a _serial killer_ is beyond my level of comprehension.

Serial killers are probably not the best person to try to make friendship bracelets with.

"Next is Jason; he most assuredly will get chopped into a bunch of pieces due to his annoying tendency to make jokes and video game references every other second." My bet is on him for winning the first-to-die medal.

I shrug when I try to figure out what other two people it meant. "As for the unspecified duo, if they are friends with me, there's a good chance they will die due to their absolute insanity."

Shaking my head, I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "Then there's me, who will get knifed repeatedly on a dark night in some alley because I managed to be sarcastic to every person I met."

The Truth doesn't seem to even care anymore, just looking in what I assume to be my direction. "That is quite a feat," it drones, "and since you obviously want to die on a clear morning, I will tell you something. Due to magnificent amounts of boredom, I'm giving all five of you certain 'bonuses' that will lead to your survival."

"I'm going to turn into a fruit bat and fly away into the distance every time someone tries to chop my head off with a butcher knife."

If my muttering does anything, it amuses the Truth to the point of lopsidedly grinning. "You're off by a lot, fortunately for you. You know that in this world, there are people that can perform what would be regarded as wonders in your world?"

I nod stiffly, rolling my eyes and growling, "Obviously."

It would have glared at me if it had eyes, but it had to settle for sighing loudly. "You won't be an alchemist, or even a Homunculus, but you will be able to absorb their powers in a sense." Seeing my confused stare, it decides to continue the explanation to avoid questions. "When you make any physical contact with superhumanly skilled people like alchemists or Homunculi, your body will catalog these abilities and remember them. Calling on any specific power will bring it to the surface and allow you to use it as if it were your own. However, it will be very dangerous, so a great deal of self-control will be needed if you want to survive while using it. "

I certainly wouldn't have thought of that as my first choice for a superpower, but I do have to admit that it could come in handy. "Can I go already?"

Really, all I want to do is sleep for a thousand years and go on Tumblr until I've seen every post that's relevant to my life. It's simple, really.

The Truth sighs loudly yet again and shakes its head, snapping the fingers on both of its hands. Everything plunges into darkness.

* * *

How exactly I end up wedged in a supply closet in who-knows-where, I have no idea at all. As for how I know I'm in a supply closet in the pitch-black darkness that's surrounding me, mainly it's due to the broom stabbing me in the back and the strong smell of bleach.

What I do remember is the Truth telling me I can absorb people's powers, though I'm unsure on how exactly I would manage to do that.

Scrabbling for the inside handle – hopefully invented by now – I find it, shove the door open, and maneuver myself so I can actually step out.

The closet opens up to a narrow, white-painted hallway; I have to blink until my eyes get used to the sudden light.

I close the door behind me and remind myself that stealth should be my utmost priority. No matter what, I _cannot_ run into anyone until I'm out on the streets of the city.

Taking a chance, I walk to the left and look out for people, stopping when I remember there is a very good chance that my clothes don't match up with the time period. I glance down and sigh automatically, wondering what possessed me to wear my David Tennant shirt with my fuzzy blue pajama pants.

I'm going to have to change before going any more, unless I want to face some very awkward questions. But where –

The supply closet I literally just was in might have some promising leads, I realize, so I turn around and go back, reopening the door.

I grin like a maniac when I see a spare military uniform hanging up. "That is very convenient," I whisper as I pull the light bulb's cord and close the door.

Changing takes a few minutes and the uniform is like the full-body equivalent of skinny jeans. There is a pair of boots that seem like they're half a size too big, but I shove them on anyway barefoot, seeing as my Converse and hot pink socks would raise even more questions.

I survey of the rest of my appearance and decide to take off my watch in case it's too modern. There is no chance I'm taking off my glasses in a place like this, and if anyone questions my ring, I'll tell them I'm betrothed to Benedict Cumberbatch. Not like he exists in this world.

My original clothes are shoved in the darkest corner, where they hopefully could go unnoticed for a couple of days. That should take care of anything that would be visible.

With this, I reemerge from the closet and check that I didn't put the uniform on backwards. It is indeed correct; if my memory serves as well as I think it does.

I turn left and keep walking in the direction I had been before, if a little louder due to the boots.

Not encountering anybody, I haven't managed to determine where I am and how to get out five minutes later.

So far, I've just managed to wander around and get myself even more lost, which is truly a feat.

Then I start to hear voices – but not in that way, I swear! I'm crazy in an entirely different way, which will probably make itself clear sometime soon.

Trust me, really, it will.

"–You know the things Bradley ordered us to do, the kind of man he really is. That's why you killed all those officers, isn't it, to send him a message."

Laughter from a different person rang out, full of derivative amusement. "I think you've got me all wrong…"

The person kept talking, but I had stopped paying attention when I realized exactly where I was.

"…The reason I killed all of those men was because I could. It's that simple."

"That's too bad, Kimblee, that truly is too bad."

I should have stopped walking when I first recognized the voices, but did I? Obviously not – I kept going like any stupid teen girl in a B-grade horror movie.

Of course I had to end up face-to-face with Isaac McDougal, who had just turned to walk out.

My eyes darted to the prison guard who was frozen next to the entrance to the cell, and I know my fate is sealed and will be handed to me on a silver platter in the next couple of seconds.

Apparently, McDougal is reluctant to attack a sixteen-year-old girl, regardless of whether or not she's wearing a military suit.

Or it could be that he's wondering why this uniform makes me look like some sort of teenage prostitute hired by the military. And that it severely limits my ability to breathe and move.

After nearly a minute of just standing three feet apart and staring at him, I try to pull off a fake smile that should assure him I have no idea who he is, but it comes off as more of a grimace. To distract him from this, I manage to stutter, "Uh, hi?"

I really should work on my introduction skills.

But _"Let's be best friends!" _isn't much better.

He blinks at me, drawing a blank on what he should do. Clearly, his revenge plot never involved running into teenaged girls in prison.

More awkward silence – I can see matching tattoos and braided friendship bracelets in our near future already.

"You're part of the military?"

I can't really say that I'm from another world and just happened to find myself in Central Prison among murderers, and changed into a military-issued uniform.

I nod and say, "Yeah…"

"But you don't carry a weapon." He's simply stating a fact, but it's probably going to morph into an accusation sooner or later.

"Guess I forgot it," I reply and shrug, tensing myself to run like a thousand evil, rabid ferrets are chasing me.

He seems to finally come to the conclusion that there's something fishy about this whole thing.

I realize he's about to charge about two seconds before he charges. All of the blood drops out of my face, and I turn to run, only to trip because of these stupid boots.

This turns out to be a good thing, since he had expected me to run and therefore overshoots, lunging towards where my shoulder would have been and tripping over me.

Now it's a simply a contest of who can get up off the floor first. It certainly isn't going to be – wait, a freaking _spider_ is scuttling inches from my face!

I jump upright with a very high-pitched shriek of utter terror that a miniscule spider could cause instead of a grown man trying to kill me. Oh right, I had forgotten about McDougal due to my obviously intense fear of any crawling or flying thing with more than four legs.

Anyways, enough about my petrifying fear of the insect-arachnid categories and more about the current fight for my life. I can deal with the spider later. A psycho serial killer has slightly more importance than a miniscule multi-legged _thing_.

"A thousand – no, a million – rabid evil ferrets are chasing me in an attempt to figure out my Wi-Fi password," I mutter to myself quite loudly, trying to gain motivation to run. "The ferrets aren't working!"

Yes, I am standing a few feet away from a murderer who is currently getting up to kill me, and I'm just trying to convince myself to run.

And now said murderer has gotten up and I have failed to motivate myself to escape death due to my incessant hatred of running. Then again, this has always been typical of me; I never run, or exercise, or even think of either if I can help it.

McDougal picks me up and slams me against the wall by my collar like I weigh no more than a ragdoll. My feet aren't even touching the floor, and being pinned to the wall by your throat isn't very comfortable.

"_He_ sent you, didn't he?"

There are a lot of _he_'s in Amestris, but I doubt McDougal's talking about Garfiel. "Bradley?" I choke out.

He nods and presses his arm harder into my throat. "What do you know?"

My vision is swarming by now, but I don't have the air to stay conscious for any more than a few seconds, let alone talk.

"She can't breathe, you idiot." The voice from inside the cell says, and I barely have time to wonder why I recognized it before the pain ends and I crumple to the floor.

I can only imagine what he must be thinking as I take what feels like forever to stop wheezing and shaking.

"What do you know about Bradley?" He repeats, probably ignoring his instinct to kick the info out of me.

I'm about to reply when the coughing starts, and I slowly raise my pointer finger in the universal gesture of please-hold-and-enjoy-the-complimentary-elevator-music.

Once it stops, I glance up at him, trying to decide whether or not to reveal what I know. Well, it's going to be talking, running, or dying, and the last two don't seem very appealing. "You should know by now." My voice isn't a whisper because I'm trying to be secretive, but due to not being able to talk any louder. "That he's–"

I automatically slam my mouth shut when I recall who the person in the cell a few feet away is, and who he'll eventually be working for.

"A Homunculus," I mouth at him after choking on my words.

Oh, please not the being lifted up and slammed into the wall part again.

Because life is a heartless jerk, I am yanked up by the collar and slammed into the wall; at least my feet are touching the ground this time and I can breathe.

McDougal's demanding I tell him how I found out about the incredibly obvious secret, but I'm no longer listening to his ranting.

One of my arms – the left, to be precise – is pinned between my shoulder and his arm. This by itself is extremely useless, seeing as I can't move it, but it reminds me of what the Truth said.

Though the Truth was incredibly annoying when it said it, and for the entire conversation.

"_When you make any physical contact with superhumanly skilled people like alchemists or Homunculi, your body will catalog these abilities and remember them. Calling on any specific power will bring it to the surface and allow you to use it as if it were your own."_

It also said there's a great danger entwined with using it, but I don't have time to worry.

I assume it was referring to skin contact, since I've felt no strange powers descend on me like a flaming chariot flown by flying horses. Then again, I have never felt anything remotely like a flaming chariot flown by flying horses descend on me.

Gritting my teeth, I yank my arm to the left, and my hand gets stuck under his, exactly how I planned it. But nothing happens, and the only new feeling I get is one of relief that my arm is no longer twisted uncomfortably.

There has got to be something I'm missing or not understanding about the Truth's words. Do I have to 'call' it?

_Uh, paging the invisible power that is currently residing within me? Would it be possible for you to absorb the alchemic ability of Isaac McDougal, if that's not too much of a bother?_

Said power actually responds. _Why the heck are you talking in my head for, Lorelei? I started a ten-page biology test a minute ago, and I didn't study for it at all!_

_Griffin – _you're_ the power that the Truth installed inside me? Oh, that is _so_ creepy!_

There must be a time difference somehow; it looks like the middle of the night here while he is in school.

Judging by the fact that he dropped me on the floor and seems to be having an argument with Kimblee, I can infer that McDougal is not paying attention to me anymore.

_What do you mean, power; nobody gave me a form for being inside of your mind. Do you have any clue on what substance is capable of initiating or speeding up a chemical reaction? Though I do have to wonder why we have this newfound connection._

It seems like he can only hear my thoughts if I, in a sense, 'broadcast' them to him.

_You do realize that's technically cheating, right?_

Regardless, this is such a Griffin line that I have to believe it's really him, at least for the time being. But a little explanation couldn't hurt.

_It's simply taking advantage of the local resources. Hey, if I suddenly started talking in your head three days after I fell into a coma on pajama day, wouldn't you ask me for instructions on how to build anything?_

_No, but the answer is a catalyst. And I will gladly help you with the rest of your test as long as you help me by just thinking something along the lines of this: 'I call the alchemic ability of Isaac McDougal forward.'_

_I call the alchemic ability of Isaac McDougal forward._ Griffin's voice reeks of confusion.

_Please start working please start working please start working._

My whole body starts to shake and it feels like ice is being poured through my veins and flowing out of my hands, which are on the floor. The ground starts to freeze audibly, and it spreads to the walls, covering them with visible ice crystals.

Since I'm no longer focusing on the strange sensation of having the voices – well, one really – in my head talk _back_, I can tell when the talking stops.

McDougal automatically singles me out as the source of the problem, maybe because my hands are shooting ice.

"D – Don't come near me!" I shriek when it looks like he might. "I don't know how to stop it!"

Did I mention my fingertips are starting to freeze and that it's quickly spreading? Cold radiates through my body, until I remember something.

Water doesn't only freeze, it boils as well.

An image of all of the water in my body boiling and veins bursting because they can't handle the pressure –

I don't care if I end up a human Popsicle; I'm sticking with the freezing for now.

Of course he has to start walking over to me. Is he incapable of common sense? It should be obvious that you should run _away_ from the problem, not try to confront it. Unless the whole universe apart from me thinks that 'fight' is better than 'flight'. Honestly, I prefer 'sarcasm', which explains why I am currently shaking on the floor without a backup plan. Sarcasm doesn't work that well in physical fights.

_Hey, do you know what small cells containing air in the lungs are called?_

_Alveoli, but now isn't really the time for asking questions when I'm trying not to die!_

"How are you doing that?" McDougal demands; he's more confused than anything else.

_Can you think this like right now? I withdraw Isaac McDougal's alchemic power._

_I withdraw Isaac McDougal's alchemic power. You better help me answer the entire test after this._

The numb sensation that had spread up to the middle of my hands abruptly stops, replaced with the feeling you get walking inside after being outside in the winter with no gloves. I look down at my hands and see that I'm no longer being used as a conduit for ice, though the entire room still remains frozen.

"I suggest you run while you still can," I say, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes, too exhausted to even be worried about dying.

"Why is that?" He sounds wary, like he expects me to suddenly start shooting boiling water out of my fingertips.

I curl my fingers into my hands so that they form a loose fist. "There isn't any other possibility that your attack on Bradley won't end with failure. If you leave, you can go to another country and plan an attack there with more people than just yourself."

"I can't do that. I'll have to send a message to Bradley. What better than the body of a dead Amestrian soldier?"

My eyes snap open as I realize what he's about to do. _Please activate Isaac McDougal's powers just one more time?_

From inside my mind, I can hear Griffin sigh. _I activate the alchemic powers of Isaac McDougal._

_Don't start just yet!_ I practically scream inwardly as I sense the sensation begin again. It halts surprisingly, and I nearly sigh in relief before throwing my hand up his direction. A bright light flashes, and both his feet and his hands are encased in ice. While there aren't any side effects this time, I can still feel the power waiting for me to use it again.

I don't want to take any chances and have my hands freeze for the second time in less than five minutes. _Reverse it now?_

_You're lucky that you're smarter than me; otherwise I'd leave you on your own. I withdraw the alchemic power of Isaac McDougal._

All at once, the sensation of alchemy inside of me vanishes, much to my relief. Then again, so does any trace of consciousness, leaving me passed out on the floor.

* * *

I open my eyes with memories of the last hour swirling in my head; I fully expect to find myself in some prison.

Yet I never even imagine that I could wind up in a room, sitting on a stool with uneven legs. I glance around and try to see why this place looks familiar. Chalkboards and a projector line one of the walls until they stop at a closed door. Then I comprehend that there are people in the room and they are remaining silent, looking down at their desks.

I shift my gaze to my own desk – shared with three other people due to its size – and see a stack of paper, turned to the second page.

Everything becomes clear when I realize I'm in the biology lab-slash-classroom. I must have fallen asleep during the test and had an incredibly strange dream. But I have to finish my test before I can even think about that.

Picking up the pencil that is lying beside my test, I freeze when I see my hands. They're stained with dirt and oil and some other substance I don't know. The only things I'd ever leave on my hands for more than three seconds are reminders I write myself in black pen. I'm holding the barely sharpened pencil in my right hand, which feels natural, despite the fact that I'm strongly left-handed.

Horror rising in me, I turn back to the front of the test and see the name scrawled in the top corner, right above the title "Physiology Test".

I am inside Griffin's body. Where does that put him?

I have to keep taking his test for him, or people will get suspicious, though it's last thing I want to do now.

The first two blanks on the answer sheet are filled in as C and B, and I check the corresponding questions on the test packet. Those were the questions he asked me when I was trying not to die. I'm already on the second page within fifteen seconds, not knowing how much time is left.

I only pause when I reach the last question, which instructs me to ask for lined paper for the essay. Looking around the room, I see that nobody else has reached this point, so I turn my packet to the front and start checking my answers.

Ugh. I had forgotten how much I hated checking answers in tests and quizzes.

Technically, I suppose me taking this test would count as cheating, as I already took it a week ago. Our grade is split based on whether we take advanced or regular math, and, though we all have the same classes otherwise, they're just in different blocks. My biology class is far ahead of schedule, and we covered the material faster, so the test was earlier. After we got it back, we had to correct what we got wrong, as usual.

So yeah, I know all of the answers now, but I'm a little too worried about being stuck in a boy's body than getting caught cheating.

I eventually reach the essay question again and grin because I had previously gotten full credit for it. But there's the problem of rewording it to not sound like I copied it off of myself.

I raise my hand and wait for the teacher to finish helping Griffin's sister – or would she be _my_ sister because I'm in his body?

On second thought, will my voice be mine or his? I need to find out, so I 'accidentally' push my pen over the edge of the desk and onto the floor. "Crap," I mutter to myself – thankfully in his voice – and pick it up.

I'm saving the rest of the mental evaluation for after I finish the essay on the immune system.

Once the teacher does, he walks over to me and asks, "Do you have a question?"

I shake my head, not wanting to speak more than I have to. "I just need paper for the essay."

He looks slightly confused for a moment, and I remember that I'm in the body of a boy who is one of the least book-smart kids in our class. "Here you go," he says while handing me a piece of lined paper.

I probably should've waited for a little longer, but it's too late to turn back now, so I simply say, "Thanks."

Grateful that I'm writing in Griffin's handwriting, I put his name and date on the paper before rereading the question. I mentally reword my entire answer before putting the pencil down again. Though I easily could have finished in three minutes, I write extremely slowly so it takes about fifteen.

When I've finished, I go through the review sheet again to kill time despite that my head has started to throb. By the time I get to the last page for the second time, I'm staring at it as my vision starts to blur.

I hand both papers in ask if I can go to the bathroom, only pausing to hear confirmation before I stumble out of the room and into the second doorway to the right. After I shut the door and lock it, I rush to the sink and turn on the cold water, splashing it on my face. This brings down my headache enough for me to be able to look into the mirror and know for sure that I'm in Griffin's body.

Pulling out a paper towel and soaking in the water, I rub it across my forehead and toss it in the trashcan, then turn the sink off.

I walk out, leave the door open, and scan the empty room, turning to the door to the science classroom. I go one step before the pain in my head resumes, twice as bad, but I manage to go into the room, gripping the handle to distract myself from the stinging.

The teacher – I can't even remember his name anymore – is about three feet away, writing the homework on the chalkboard. I ask him in a slurred voice if I can go to the nurse, and I think he says yes and that he'll write me a pass.

I last about half a minute before I have to lean against the door to remain upright. Soon, that isn't enough and my – well, Griffin's – legs give out from under me and I collapse face down on the ground.

It takes a few seconds for everything to go dark, enough time for me to tell myself that I really should stop falling unconscious every five minutes.

* * *

"Do you have some sort of personal decree to bother me once a day?" The Truth sounds more annoyed than amused, much to my surprise.

For some reason, I'm suddenly standing in the stupid white void thing again. I would be in a blind rage if not for the fact that my headache has vanished.

"It's not like I _want_ to see you this much," I snap, rolling my eyes. "But, since I'm here, I might as well ask a question that's been bugging me."

Its whole silhouette of a body radiates impatience. "Go on…"

"I heard it mentioned that I had fallen into a coma a few days before I went through here to get to Amestris due to you. I'm guessing that this happens to everyone who does this?"

"Your assumption is correct," it says, gesturing for me to continue talking.

I start pacing, five steps, turn around, five more steps, repeat. "Then I want to go back."

"I'm afraid that is not possible," the Truth sighs, "since you are needed here. However, I can provide some consolation, if you'll listen." It continues when I don't acknowledge its words at all. "Currently, your body in your world has been in a coma for three days, same with your little group of ragtag friends.

"Now, I may be a great many things, but heartless I am not."

At that, I roll my eyes and smirk.

It would have glared at me if it had eyes. "Fairness is different than cruelty, young girl. Those who think they can play God have no excuse except their own arrogance. You and the four others, however, didn't enter here of your own free will, so I'll be lenient. After five days of being unconscious, you will wake up exactly the same as you were. In a sense, you will have two lives, one on each world, though you will not be able to remember being in Amestris in your other life. If you die in this world while your counterpart is still alive, you will pass through here into the other world, losing all your knowledge of Amestris and gaining the memories of your counterpart. In a sense, you will merge with them and forget all about here."

The Truth continues after a pause. "To avoid any more encounters with you in the future than necessary, I'll also give you the ability to absorb other people's powers automatically, and only have to think the name of the owner for the power to appear. Your conversations with your little friend echo across here and it is extremely annoying. If that is all, I'll be sending you on your way." Instead of snapping its fingers, this time it tapped its foot, though darkness still spread regardless.

* * *

Voices filter through my head despite the fact that all I want to do was keep sleeping until the end of time.

"What happened?"

"From what I can tell, he broke into here and froze the guard outside the cell, trying to convince Kimblee to join him in the attack. Cue the girl, whoever she is; somehow, the fighting managed to freeze the entire room and McDougal's hands and feet."

I need to have a cover story ready before I show that I'm not actually sleeping anymore. I have one outlined after I tune out their voices, but I suppose it's going to have to be enough for now.

Blinking, I raise my head and see that I am in the exact same spot on the prison floor. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose so I can see more than blurry outlines. The room isn't frozen anymore, smells strongly of bleach, and is empty except for two men standing in the corner, talking quietly until one of them notices I'm awake.

No. I don't want people noticing me. Oh, hell.

"We didn't want to move you for caution's sake," he says as he walks over to where I'm sitting, kneeling next to me. He's not wearing any military uniform and his short black hair is ruffled, as if he had just gotten up. His eyes, hazel behind the lenses of his glasses, met mine. A fellow glasses wearer! We shall be best friends immediately. I declare it so.

The other man goes over to stand behind him, seeming positively impatient with this whole business. He's in a coat that goes down past his knees over a uniform; over his hands are white gloves with red transmutation circles on them. Black hair partly obscures his slightly slanted eyes of the same color.

"I'm Roy Mustang, and this is Maes Hughes. We'd just like to ask you a few questions about what happened here last night."

But Hughes died – wait, this is way before then, so…

Hughes sees my expression and says, "We can go into another room if you'd like."

I nod, still lost in thought, and follow them throughout the prison until we reach an empty room that doesn't look like it's in a building filled with murderers. A table is placed to one side so its end is perpendicular to the far wall, and two chairs line each parallel side. They sit at one side and I sit at the chair closest to the wall on the other.

Hughes sits in the chair across from me; he and Mustang seem to be fighting with their eyes over who will ask me the first question.

Sighing, I decide to save them both the trouble. "My name's Lorelei Clemens; I'm sixteen, if that's what you wanted to know."

Mustang curses under his breath and exclaims, "Sure, there was Fullmetal, but now the military is recruiting teenagers?"

I shake my head and rest my head in my hand. "I'm not actually in the military."

They exchange a confused glance and then both look at me in a way I suspect they have worked on for a long time.

I can't get the image of them practicing it in a mirror together out of my head, so it's a moment before I reply. "It's a long story."

Hey, that's not a lie. It _is_ a long story.

Smirking, Mustang leans forward in his chair and puts his elbows on the edge of the table. "The longer I'm here, the longer I am away from my paperwork. You talk as long as you want."

"You do realize that you'll have less time to work on paperwork when you get back, right? Riza won't be happy with you then." Though Hughes's tone is scolding, his eyes light up playfully.

If I don't start telling my cover story, they'll go on like this all day. "As I was _saying_," I start, rolling my eyes, "I'm Lorelei Clemens and I'm sixteen. My parents were traders who lived in the South and were killed in the border wars with Creta three months ago. I went to Central after their funeral and have been wandering around ever since; yesterday, I saw the news that McDougal had started attacking military personnel. I basically thought, '_bummer, but not my problem_.'"

I pause for a moment to catch my breath, still shaken from last night's events.

"I didn't really care, until I was walking at night because I couldn't sleep and saw him break into Central Prison. Yeah, I followed him in; ridiculously stupid, I know, I know. Then there was the question of what to do with my clothes, since I couldn't go into _Central Prison_ wearing civilian clothes. Luckily for me, I happened on a supply closet with a uniform hanging in it. I changed into it and threw my old clothes out as soon as I could, then I followed the sound of the voices until I reached him."

Mustang shakes his head and mutters, "Just like Fullmetal."

"Usually, I'm only like that when I don't have enough sleep. Face-to-face with a murderer, I started to start second-guessing myself, especially when he tried to kill me by turning me into an ice sculpture. Said second-guessing revealed itself through screaming nonstop as I tried – and failed – to keep standing up in the now-frozen room. I guess my improvised tactic worked, seeing as he was utterly baffled on why they would let a complete and utter _moron_ like me into the military. Confusion is dangerous when fighting, though I'm using the term very loosely, and it led him to accidentally trip and freeze his hands and feet. Right after that, I passed out."

Despite himself, Mustang is smirking again, presumably at my idiocy and how I alternate between a monotone and a voice too dramatic for the original Star Trek at the drop of a hat.

After I finish telling the story, Hughes asks, "What happened after that?"

It should have been obvious. "I woke up and you two were there talking about what happened. That's all I remember."

The two men look at each other, confusion etched onto their faces; Mustang is about to ask me something before Hughes shakes his head.

Right now, I feel like a total idiot due to the story I told them, though it isn't entirely true.

"Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I'm realizing that seeking out a murderer probably wasn't the best idea, especially not with my game plan."

"Regardless, you managed to catch the aforementioned murderer and prevent even more deaths." The voice comes from the door behind me.

Oh, why do I recognize that voice? It can't be a good reason.

Hughes and Mustang snap out of their chairs, their expressions respectful and their posture rigid. In unison, they call, "Fuhrer Bradley!"

I stand up as well, turning to face the door faster than I moved when McDougal was trying to kill me.

Yup, that's the Fuhrer, looking much younger than any sixty-year-old man has any right to.

I'm not sure what to do with my hands – do I salute, or do something else entirely?

Of course Bradley notices – stupid all-seeing eye – and, much to my surprise, smiles. He waves his hand, telling us all to sit, and walks over once we do. "There's no reason to be so formal."

"It's not like you're the _Fuhrer of Amestris _or anything," I mutter beneath my breath and freeze when I realize I've said that out loud.

Bradley pauses with his foot off of the ground. The whole room is deathly quiet, like the calm before a storm. Then he starts to laugh hysterically, as if what I said was the funniest thing he has heard in his life.

I stare at him in shock, having expected to have been thrown in a cell to rot for the rest of my days.

He keeps laughing for a full minute, and I have to wonder whether it's actually genuine. I can imagine constantly being around people who are afraid of him or try to use him for his power would be undoubtedly maddening. It's no wonder he's Wrath.

"It's not often I meet people who are unafraid of voicing their opinions to my face," he gasps once he's managed to catch his breath. "A very refreshing change; I value that in a person. I'm technically supposed to be here to applaud you on catching McDougal and see if the military can assist you for anything, but I'll take it a step further, in exchange for a price."

Nodding to say I understand, I lean my chair backwards onto its back two legs and say, "Like the basis of alchemy, equivalent exchange."

If he wants me to become some sort of prostitute, I'm out. Nope. No way in hell.

Bradley pulls out the chair next to me and sits in it, saying, "Exactly. I'll grant you whatever you want for your honest opinion on Amestris. It would be refreshing to see this country from a different viewpoint."

This is way more generous than I was expecting, but I can't help but be suspicious. "_Whatever_ I want?"

What if I want to marry Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch? Could he say no?

"It has to be within reason, of course; I can't go handing leadership of the country to any teenager who asks politely."

That's more along the lines of what I was thinking. He wants to find out how a girl like me could overpower a State Alchemist without dying. When he finds out, he'll tell his Father, since he is a Homunculus, after all, and, at Philosopher's Stone, Homunculi are Homunculi, no matter how small (or human-based) they are.

"So I would observe the military from the inside and formulate an opinion on it?"

I bet he's trying to figure out if the slightly-above-average, everyday person could find out the corruption inside the military. If I do, nobody would miss me or even notice my disappearance.

Bradley nods. "You can have some time to get settled in before starting, if you like."

All at once, a plan rushes into my head, one that will most likely get me killed. "I can start as soon as I can. Do you happen to know when this year's Assessment Day is?"

"I believe a State Alchemist would be better qualified to talk about this than I am."

Mustang realizes Bradley is pointing at him. "It's in eight days, why?"

Shrugging, I tip my chair forward so that all four legs crash back onto the ground. "These tests determine whether or not a State Alchemist remains in the military for another year. Common sense says that bribery and foul play would be numerous among certain State Alchemists." I grin widely and clasp my hands together as I continue explaining. "There's no better time to uncover possible corruption among the so-called dogs of the military than when they're looking for bones."

While Hughes looks impressed, Mustang merely sighs and runs a hand through his hair, making it even messier. "How do you expect us to do that? Any State Alchemist that is participating in illegal behavior will run the second he finds out we're on his trail."

He has fallen right into my master trap. Perfect.

"Take someone who has been struggling to make ends meet and to keep his certification, a clearly desperate man. Offer to give him money in exchange for letting a soft-spoken, scholarly girl interested in his specific field of alchemy to stay at his house and look through his research. He won't know that she'll go through his laboratory and secret notes when he's asleep."

For a plan thought out in less than half a second, it's really quite impressive, at least in my opinion.

Bradley seems slightly enthusiastic about the whole plan; though I'm sure it's acting. "It's safe to assume the girl in question is you?"

I nod and ask, "Do you happen to have files on all of the State Alchemists somewhere? I could make a decision on who to target if I can look through them."

Hughes was the one who speaks this time. "They're back at Central Command; we could take a car. You're probably not up for walking there."

Waving his hand, Bradley says, "You two can take my car, just tell my driver that I sent you. Lorelei, you're welcome to shower first to get the prison smell out of your hair; there are civilian clothes ready for when you need them. Mustang, I'll need you here to divert Fullmetal's questions about what happened when he arrives."

"Thanks, Fuhrer Bradley," I say as I follow Hughes out the door and close it behind me. I wrap a strand of hair around my finger and sniff it, shuddering. "Ugh, I smell like bleach. Do you mind if I shower?"

Hughes shook his head and pointed to the bathroom across the hall. "The clothes are in there; I'll go and tell the driver he'll be driving us back soon."

I stumble into the door, letting it close behind me, and lock it when I see the room is like my bathroom at home – no stalls, just meant for one person, with all the necessary materials.

Once I no longer smell like Central Prison, I turn off the shower and change into the civilian clothes Bradley provided.

I roll the sleeves of the way too large and assuredly a man's purple flannel shirt up so they don't cover my hands. That's when I see I have a hair-tie on my wrist; I use it to bunch the extra material up by my waist so that it doesn't restrict movement. However, this annoyingly reveals the knee-length black skirt. There's currently no replacement for the boots, so I put them on again.

If I had any say in my outfit – which I obviously don't – I would ditch the skirt in a millisecond. Lorelei plus skirt equals annoyed Lorelei.

There's a small, cracked mirror above the sink that I only glance at to assure myself that I do need to comb my hair with the somewhat unsanitary-looking comb on the counter. I shudder as I do; gripping the handle as if that could make a difference.

I walk out of the bathroom, straight into a short blond boy with golden eyes, or Edward Elric.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" He snaps, pushing past me and heading away from the room where Mustang and Bradley were.

Sighing, I glance around but Hughes isn't back. "Nobody told me the Fullmetal Alchemist would be so–"

He turns around, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he nears explosion. "Say short, I dare you!"

"–Rude," I finish, rolling my eyes and leaning against the wall, facing him. I jump when there's a tap on my shoulder.

Alphonse Elric stands behind me, and I have to wonder how his armored body moved in silence. "Miss, I'm sorry about my brother, Ed; he can be a little insensitive at times."

The shortness of breath comes back, not from instant-love like many young adult novels seem to think is an actual thing, but from still being tense after nearly dying. "I – I could tell," I gasp, my hands having instinctually clenched into fists at my surprise.

Amused, Edward walks back towards me and tilts his head to one side. "You're really jittery."

"It's not very nice to make fun of someone you just met," I say mockingly, crossing my arms.

"I'm not making fun of you, simply commenting on an observation. If anything, you're making fun of me."

I fix him with my best death glare. Trust me when I say that I have fifteen thousand different varieties, and that this one is simultaneously the best and the most damaging. "Especially when that person has already taken down a rogue State Alchemist," I continue. "It's not that wise of an idea."

By now, he's gone far enough so that he's standing next to Alphonse. The brothers exchange a glance, like they could exchange their thoughts through it.

Edward storms right up to me, practically crushing me to the wall. He seems a whole foot taller in his apparent rage. "So you're the one, then?"

Being cornered by a person half a foot shorter than me is slightly embarrassing, to say the least. "Wasn't that what I said less than a minute ago?" Is _everyone_ this dense in Amestris?

"You look remarkably calm for someone who's just killed a man!"

All of the blood drains out of my face. My vision blurs and I blink rapidly to clear it. There's no air left in my lungs, but I can't bring myself to breathe. Instead, I whisper, "Killed?" I definitely don't remember _killing_ anyone.

His hands are clenched into fists at his side. He looks down at them in disgust and glances back up at me. "Are you saying you don't _remember_?"

"I think I'd recall killing someone, if that's what you're saying." My sleeves have fallen over my hands; I grip them, trying to hold onto the feeling. "I should, anyway." Unless. After I froze his – McDougal's – hands and feet, I found myself in Griffin's body for about half an hour.

Maybe the same thing happened to him – while delirious, he accidentally killed someone; albeit it was a person that was most likely trying to kill him, but still.

"I had rather hoped you wouldn't find out until later." Hughes is standing at the end of the hall, wearing an expression that's annoyed at best. "Elric, next time you decide to tell a civilian that they accidentally killed someone and then forgot about it, be a little gentler."

Alphonse had been quiet throughout the whole conversation, but not anymore. He elbows his brother, armor clinking, and scolds, "Brother!"

"You've been here the whole time?" Edward asks, lowering his head.

Hughes nods stiffly and stalks past him to me. "When we heard you didn't have any memory of what happened, we didn't want to tell you and overload you with the information. It's a rather delicate situation to begin with."

"And nobody thought it would be a good idea to say something along the lines of, _Oh, hey, and by the way, you just killed a man_. Then again, it is the military we're talking about. Really, it should be unsurprising." I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I push Edward away and stalk down the hallway in the direction Hughes came from.

I probably should look where I'm going as I turn the corner, but I don't. I collide with a person who apparently happens to be waiting for someone or something. This time, I simply don't bump into them, I smash into them full-throttle and somehow flip in the air, landing on my back on the ground while they don't move an inch. It's almost like they're made of rocks. Of course I ram into them instead of an unsuspecting baby. What? I hate babies. I never liked them and never will.

Then again, I do hate most children, along with teens, adults, old people, really old people, and the human population in general. And some aliens species. I'm definitely not a philanthropist.

It takes my vision a moment to focus on the person curiously peering down at me, but once I do I see they have violet eyes slit like a cat's. "Are you all right?" The voice is male, that I can tell automatically.

I nod as much as I can with my head against the floor, wincing at the movement. "Sorry about that."

"_I_ should be the one saying sorry – you're the one on your back on the ground." The man blinks his strange eyes, probably realizing how wrong that would sound out of context. "The name is Sherman. Cain Sherman." He says, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet.

I do my best not to shudder with pain or stumble again. "Lorelei Clemens," I say when I stand up, observing him. Aside from the purple eyes, he's completely normal, with short, spiky dark blonde hair and a blue military uniform. At least, he looks completely normal.

He's about to say something when Hughes rushes in and narrowly avoids crashing into us. "Oh, I see you've found our driver! We should get going so you can start your research."

Nodding, I follow after them through a series of hallways and staircases that eventually lead to the front door of the prison. Our car is parked out front, unless we're hijacking someone else's car, which is perfectly fine with me. Sherman opens the back door and I get in, moving over to the other side of the seat so Hughes can sit too.

As soon as the car starts moving, I lay my head down against the window and vow to try to sort out my thoughts about the McDougal situation. But I can't stop my mind from racing, so I close my eyes, let my breathing even, and let my head slowly slip downwards so it rests on the ledge under the window. Like I've always thought, it's better to pretend to sleep than to have to talk about my feelings.

It's silent until Sherman curses softly under his breath and slams his hand against the wheel. "It might take longer than normal to get to Central Command because of the stupid traffic clogging up the road." His voice sounds familiar, but I don't know why.

Hughes taps his hand on the seat and replies, "That's fine. I'm sure Lorelei won't mind; the less time she's conscious means less time endlessly fretting over unchangeable things."

Oh, but that's where he's wrong. From this car ride on, I'm promising to change the future.

"Sometimes people don't realize the past–"

I jolt upwards, fingernails digging into my hands, as I realize why I know Sherman's voice. It is like an arrow from a crossbow has been shot through my heart, leaving me bleeding out but not able to show it. He's Envy in disguise. I resist the urge to swear and use that metaphorical bolt to stab his eyes out.

Hughes is the first one to react. "Are you okay?" Concern lines his voice and I force down the words that're rising up in my throat, to tell him to run now with his family and never look back, to get out of Amestris before it's too late.

But that would only cause us both to die right now, so I nod weakly and say, "Just a nightmare."

Sherman – no, _Envy_ – pulls over once he reaches the destination. He gets out and holds open the door for us. "We're at Central Command now." The way he talks makes me want to gouge his tongue with a rusty Spork, but that will have to wait for later. Like when I find a rusty Spork in Amestris later.

I get out after Hughes does, my moronic skirt forcing me to stick my legs out first and stand up from there. My too-big boots cause me to stumble, and I grip Envy's arm to keep from falling.

Do not rip his eyes out with your fingernails, Lorelei, think of the mess that would be. Think of the pain it would be to wash out. Think of anything except for how amazing it would be like to deprive this Homunculus of his eyeballs.

Forcing my voice to be as light as humanly possible, I say, "Thanks for the ride!"

Envy gives a comical bow and laughs, "Anytime, milady." He salutes playfully and smirks as he gets back in the car, saying, "Time to pick up the Fuhrer now."

We're both two actors in a performance we think we're the only ones to know about, playing the idiot card to make our opponents underestimate us.

I watch the car leave with my eyes narrowed before I turn around and see Hughes grinning at the top of the staircase. "Care to talk about _Cain Sherman_?" He's trying to distract me, to get me to stop thinking about McDougal – it's obvious that's what I'm fixated on – and here's the thing: it works.

Since I utterly despise running, and my muscles are still sore from the whole fighting-for-my-life ordeal, I don't chase him. But I do mutter the name of a certain British actor as I try and fail to keep up. "Oh, for the love of Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch," I growl.

"Who's that?" Hughes asks once I reach the end of the stairs, "Your boyfriend?"

Uh, is '_I wish'_ an acceptable answer? "You think a girl like me has time for a boyfriend when I'm going to work for the Fuhrer?" I am a strong independent woman who doesn't need any man to be, well, man-like. On second thought, masculine would be a better word, but whatever.

"Good point," he says, opening the front door for me and then walking in after me.

I can tell that the mood will have to change to pure business as I step inside. It's so quiet that my footsteps echo throughout the open room and people glance up before diligently returning to their work.

He leads me into a small room that reminds me of a cave. "The records of all the current State Alchemists are in here." He points at a shelf along the top of the room that's filled with about twenty-five black binders. "Each of these is a catalog of all State Alchemists every year, starting from the introduction of the program. We keep detailed records of their type of alchemy, their research, and their scores on each year's Assessment Day."

Not bad for a government run by an angry Homunculus. And that saying reminds me of the old game Hungry-Hungry Hippos. Angry-Angry Homunculi, out in stores near you soon.

I balance forward on my tiptoes – darn tall shelves – and pull out the latest three binders. "It's probably best to start with the most recent years and then go back."

I can't exactly say that I know exactly who I want.

Hughes tilts his head at me and asks, "When was the last time you've eaten?"

I open my mouth and think, but can't remember. "I – I don't know."

"Why don't we get lunch in the cafeteria? Then you can start working." It doesn't sound like a bad offer, even though I know he's probably just doing it to try to get more information out of me.

"Couldn't hurt," I say, and put the binders on top of a table in one corner. They'll be here when I come back. Food takes priority.

He walks back out the door and I go after him. "Do you want to see pictures of my wife and my daughter? She's turning three this year! My daughter, not my wife, of course," he adds, pulling out pictures from his wallet and practically shoving them in my face. Guess I can't say no.

I take them and flip through them. Personally, I've never found his compulsion to talk about his family to everyone he meets irritating. Hey, I do that with fictional characters twice as much. "Oh, they're so cute!"

"Aren't they?" He beams at me, probably thankful that someone doesn't get annoyed. "I have tons more back at my house if you want to see them."

It's decided that I'm staying with him until I leave? Can't say I mind.

I hand them back to him and he tucks them back in his wallet. We've reached the double doors leading to the cafeteria, and I pull them open. Waves of blue-uniformed people mill about. If I wasn't with Hughes, it would definitely be overwhelming. I'm in no way a people person.

He waves at someone and grabs my arm, dragging me over to them. Mustang sits at a table; he looks up at me in surprise. "Hughes, what is she doing here?"

"To research which State Alchemist to keep under surveillance," Hughes says as if it's obvious.

Mustang shakes his head and rephrases, "In the lunchroom."

"Nice job at pretending I'm invisible," I mutter while I sit down across from him, elbows on the table.

Hughes shrugs and says, "We were both hungry. I thought that the work could wait for later." He stares down at me. "Well, do you want to get lunch or not? Sitting there and sulking won't do you any good." He heads to what presumably is the lunch line and I hurry after him. I really do not want to be left alone with Mustang. That would not be fun at all.

"Oh, for the love of David Tennant, what is your problem, Hughes?" I growl once I reach him.

"Is that another one of your boyfriends?" He grins at me and gestures to the food that's on the counter. "Pick anything you like. It's on me, since you don't have any money."

"Uh, thanks," I say, taking the first thing I see, which happens to be a slice of pizza. It managed to make its way into Amestris of all places. I don't have much of an appetite and I doubt that I can even finish it, so that's all I grab.

Various people give me strange glances, probably more about the fact that I'm not in uniform than that I'm a teenage girl. One – a particularly curious man – asks, "Who the hell is she?" He is actually more rude than curious, but still, he could have at least asked _me_.

I roll my eyes and say, "Lorelei Clemens. Thanks for asking _me_."

"And why the hell are you here?"

"She's the one who took down the Freezing Alchemist," Hughes says, clearly trying to avoid any confrontation.

"She killed McDougal? Nah, he most likely laughed at her."

Screw it. Okay, I was going to try to be nice, or at least as nice as I can get. But because of his lack of politeness I will change my approach drastically. "Let me guess. Did your wife kick you out when she saw the tapes of you and your new girlfriend? Or did you leave of your own free will so you can be _busy_ at any time?"

"_What_? I don't have a new girlfriend!" He practically explodes at me.

"Right," I drawl, "she's simply the prostitute you hire when you get lonely and the stripper that you had for your best friend's bachelor party, correct?"

A stern-looking lady steps between me and him. "Why don't you leave him alone?"

I give them an exaggerated frown that's more like a pout. "Too bad you two work together. A person has to wonder what the military would think if they found out."

"Just because you somehow managed to kill McDougal doesn't mean you can… _waltz_ in here and make false accusations!" The man seems to be utterly enraged.

The woman looks horrified and disgusted, exclaiming, "I'm married! What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure you came around for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over." I notice this conversation has gradually been getting louder and louder.

"How the hell would you come to that conclusion?" The man yells.

Perfect. I didn't expect for it to come this far, but thank goodness for Sherlock Holmes and his glorious comebacks. I can't help wondering if these two people are Donovan and Anderson. "Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant," he says simply, voice dripping with skepticism.

"It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men, I'm wearing it." He's obviously questioning my sanity. He doesn't even bother to be subtle about it, rude.

I shrug reluctantly. "So is she."

They simultaneously look at each other in disbelief.

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." I can't resist grinning at them like a cat that's cornered two canaries.

The whole lunchroom is deathly quiet in shock. I didn't think our argument would be quite this popular, but I'm rolling with it like a master. "Whoops, did I say all of that out loud? My bad," I say with faux-regret. I turn away from them and flounce to the cashier, who doesn't bother to hide her smile.

"It's nice to see those two brought down a couple of notches." She waves me to go back to my seat. "Hughes said he'd pay for you."

I nod at her and carry my pizza back to the table I was at before. Mustang sits there and smirks at me as I sit down. "That was entertaining."

I wink at him and say, "Really? I had no idea."

"How did you deduce all that?" Hughes asks once he sits down, carrying his tray of food.

"I didn't."

"_What_?" They exclaim, practically in unison.

"Adlibbing," I whisper with a grin, "but don't tell anyone. Seems to me that they weren't the most popular duo; don't want anyone to know that I made it up all on the spot." Technically, this isn't true. It's simply a Sherlock quote, but no need to tell them that. I'd have to explain who Sherlock Holmes is and what a TV show is and why I'm obsessed with middle-aged British men older than my parents. I'm quite happy to leave them to their own thoughts.

Mustang chokes on his drink and starts shaking with laughter. "That's going to get them fired, you know."

"Can't say I regret it," I respond, shaking my head overdramatically. "Now I should eat."

* * *

One pizza later, Hughes and I are back in the dark cave-like room. I'm sitting on the floor in one corner, flipping through the most recent binder. "Can I have a pad of paper and a pencil?"

It turns out both of my requests are in this room. "You do realize there's an official sheet of all the names I can copy off for you, right?" Hughes asks after handing me my materials.

"I figured, but I concentrate better when I do my own work from scratch."

Each State Alchemist has a section separated by dividers, so it's easy to turn to a name, copy it down, and go onto the next. In about five minutes, I'm done writing the names down and can get on to the bigger work.

The first name and title I have written down is Alex Louis Armstrong, the Strong Arm Alchemist. I peruse his file before reading that he was born into a wealthy family and has consistently amazed the judges in all areas of his alchemic abilities. I cross out his name on my paper.

I don't like going in order, and honestly I want to cross as many names off as quickly as possible.

So I turn to Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist. Obviously he's not even close to my intended target, not to mention the fact that he was there when I said my plan.

Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist sends a wave of hatred that nearly makes me rip his file in half. I scribble out his name, leaving no trace I had ever written it.

Turning to Basque Grand, the Iron-Blood Alchemist, I take the time to skim through his file until I see that he currently has more money deposited in his bank account per month than I think is allowed in the bank at all.

Giolio Comanche, the Silver Alchemist, is regarded a 'hero of Ishval' and has even more money than Grand. He's a patriot taken to the extreme and has been in the State Alchemist program since the year it started.

Finally, I have ruled out every name except my target: Shou Tucker, the Sewing-Life Alchemist. I've poured through his files extensively and have scribbled down incriminating notes in the margins of my paper.

And let me just say there's a _lot_ of incriminating notes.

"I'm pretty sure our best bet will be with Shou Tucker, the Sewing-Life Alchemist. His wife left him around the time he first achieved his certification, two years ago; he made the first talking chimera that ended up eventually dying. He nearly failed his test last year, and since then, he's been struggling to make ends meet for him, his young daughter, and his dog." I hand Hughes his file and he looks through it quickly.

"He lives in the East," he comments, "Mustang's headed back there tomorrow afternoon. I'll see if you can ride with him and if he can drop you off at Tucker's. For now, you're staying at my place for the night!" His grin turns entirely psychotic. "You can meet my wife Gracia and daughter Elicia!"

I know it's futile to refuse, so I don't bother.

* * *

I can honestly say that I was not expecting the Elric brothers to spend another night in Central. Then I remember McDougal died ahead of schedule, and a sick feeling rises in my stomach.

Hughes had been so caught up in the case that he had forgotten that their train for Liore leaves the same time as mine and Mustang's does.

It's only for one night, I tell myself as I plaster a fake smile on my face and insist that I don't care that I sleep on the couch, that I've slept on plenty of couches in my life. It's not even a lie.

He's being so gracious in offering up his house that I can't refuse him, or make him feel bad about it.

Gracia takes everything in stride. Hughes quickly informs her of the situation that happened in the prison, and she doesn't seem to mind. At least, once she's met me, that is.

Elicia stares up at me with her big toddler eyes. "Why do you have a cut on your face? It's big."

She and I are sitting on the aforementioned couch. Gracia's in the kitchen along with Hughes, making dinner, but the Elrics haven't gotten back yet.

I glance around as if making sure nobody is listening before I lean in and whisper, "I was fighting a monster." In truth, I hadn't even realized that I had gotten scratched. The prison's bathroom mirror wasn't that great.

Her face lights up and she bounces in her seat. She asks, "Really? Was it huge and scary?"

I can't help smiling at her little-girl wonder. "Nothing I couldn't handle. I'm an independent woman who doesn't need any man."

Technically, it was probably Griffin who killed McDougal. But I am _not_ telling her that.

The Elrics arrive exactly as Gracia calls, "Dinner's ready!" Perfect timing, like any hero; the hero enters just in the nick of time and not a moment sooner.

Edward immediately smells the cooking food and smiles. "Al, I'm so glad that we didn't go and get souvenirs for Winry like you said we should. Otherwise, we'd have missed this food!" His gaze lands on me and he frowns. "What're you doing here?"

"Looking for elephants," I mutter, "the safari starts in ten minutes. Grab your gear."

Gracia smiles slightly at him and says, "Lorelei's staying with us for the night. She's leaving for East City in the morning along with Colonel Mustang."

"That won't be a problem, right?" Hughes asks, a warning leaking into his voice.

"I love safaris," I say, "I'll be able to handle myself like the big girl I am."

Edward narrows his eyes and practically screams, "Don't call me little!"

"Brother, she didn't say that," Alphonse says, shaking his head.

This is going to be a _long_ night.

* * *

Dinner passes as uneventfully as possible. Alphonse makes various excuses to why he doesn't touch the food. Gracia beams like a freaking star – in both meanings – with every compliment her cooking gets. Hughes brags endlessly and endearingly about his wife and daughter. Elicia talks about trains and how she's going to be a monster hunter when she grows up. Edward acts like a pig and eats four times as much food as he should have. I make sarcastic commentary and eat as much as I can; given the circumstances.

After, Alphonse and I help clean up while Edward heads straight to bed. Ignoring the protests made by Gracia, he washes the plates and I dry them. During this, the trio that makes up the Hughes family goes to bed, leaving us alone.

"So, you did kill McDougal?" Al asks as he hands me another plate.

I wipe it with the damp towel until it's dry. "Apparently," I say, "but I can't remember it. Don't even know how I did it."

He gives me a bowl and I scrub it furiously. "Do you want me to tell you?"

I stare up at him. He utterly dwarfs me, being that suit of armor and all. "I guess; it's better to know than to not know and wonder."

"You remember right up until you froze him, right?" I nod, and he continues. "You started to awaken right after officers took Kimblee out of his cell. McDougal was still frozen to the floor, so they thought that it was safe to have only a few guards stay in the room. He noticed you weren't unconscious anymore, and he changed the ice around the room into fog. In the chaos, you grabbed a syringe off the top of a first aid kit by you before he picked you up by your neck and slammed you against the wall."

Ouch. This story is already taking a turn for the worst, and he's not even dead yet.

"McDougal started to interrogate you, all while still choking you; you probably had a concussion and screamed that you didn't know what he was talking about. Not being able to breathe with his hand crushing your throat, you slashed out blindly and stuck the syringe in his neck before passing out from lack of oxygen and falling to the floor."

I finish drying the last plate and put it on the counter. "That's better than I thought it would be. Not that I'm glad I killed him, of course. It's that I thought I hadn't killed him in self-defense but because I was pissed at him for attacking me."

"You think you could do that?" Al asks, moving to sit on the couch. I follow him and sit next to him.

Uh, is _hell yes_ an acceptable answer?

"I'm not a nice person, Alphonse," I say, sighing and leaning over so my head rests on the arm of the couch. "Despite what you may think, I'm not a nice person."

He nods – I can tell by the sound of his armor – and goes out into his and Edward's bedroom. I turn off the lamp next to me and stare up at the unforgiving darkness.

Now my self-made mission begins. At any cost, I'm not going to let anybody die that deserves to live. As for the ones that don't deserve life, they'll become part of my assignment as well, but for another reason.

It all starts with ramming a knife through Shou Tucker's heart when his daughter isn't looking.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Title_: Welcome to the Masquerade is another song by Thousand Foot Krutch, and the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from it.

_The Truth_: Some of you probably are wondering why Lorelei, as well as Damon and Izumi, refers to the Truth as _the _Truth, instead of simply _Truth_. Despite the fact that it calls itself _Truth_, I've always interpreted the phrase as the following. When you say you're human, you don't say you are _the_ human. Yet narratives say _the_ human, _the_ dog, _the_ girl, _the_ Dalek, etc.

_Lorelei's Power_: To put it simply, whenever Lorelei comes into contact with a 'gifted' person, such as an alchemist, a chimera, or a Homunculus, her body absorbs their powers. At a later time, she only has to call up the power she wants to the surface to use it. Before her second encounter with the Truth, she had to rely on Griffin to call up the power through their mental bond. However, she now only has to think of it for herself.

_Lorelei and Griffin_: Again, I'll use simplicity when describing this process. At first, the Truth let Griffin act as a conduit for Lorelei's power, allowing them to transmit their thoughts into each other's heads. The Truth eventually got annoyed and gave Lorelei the ability to not require a conduit, and her connection with Griffin was severed.

_Envy at Central_: As most of you probably know, Envy poses as Father Cornello at Liore after the events of episode three. However, it's never shown when exactly he arrives at Liore, just that Lust and Gluttony were there at the beginning of the series. So in this story, he's posing as Cain Sherman, the Fuhrer's driver, and goes to Liore on the same train as the Elrics.

_Envy's Codename_: Cain Sherman isn't a name I chose at random. Cain, his first name, comes from a Biblical story, where the titular character is notably _envious_ of his brother. Sherman was a military tank used by the US in World War II. Officially, it is called "M4 Sherman".

_Sherlock Quotes_: Yes, the whole lunchroom confrontation scene is based off of a scene from the BBC show Sherlock. You can YouTube "Anderson – Sherlock BBC" to find the scene. And, if you were wondering, no, the two people Lorelei talks to were _not_ together. It should be obvious that I don't own anything about Sherlock.

* * *

Firstly, I want to apologize if there are any spelling and/or grammatical errors in this chapter. I didn't get to edit as I normally do (read it aloud to see if there are any mistakes) and I wanted to release this chapter on time. So I'm sorry if you find this to be subpar.

Anyways, thanks to all my reviewers, and anyone who reads this! Feel free to review or to ask questions if you want to.

And, if you're wondering, the current day of the week I'm updating this is _Sunday_.


	4. When In Doubt

**Current Status**

Damon Pythias: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

Jason Pelion: Staying at the Devil's Nest in Dublith with Greed and various chimeras.

Lorelei Clemens: Staying at the Hughes's house in Central, about to go to the Tucker household at East City to pose as a student interested in bio-alchemy.

* * *

Part One: The Introduction

**Chapter Four – When In Doubt**

"_Things seem so hallucinating; in the corners of my mind they scare me. I know ya never meant to desert me, just like you never really meant to hurt me."_

* * *

Sabrina Severn

"Why, hello there!"

I open my eyes slowly to find myself in an empty white space that seems to go on forever. Huh, I think I'd remember ending up _here_.

"There are nicer things to look at than a hollow void, you know." The voice comes from a place behind me, so I turn around to see a strange _thing_ standing in front of me. It looks like a person but it doesn't seem to be more than a simple silhouette, the same shade of white as everything else in this weird place.

I stare at it in disbelief and shake my head, closing my eyes. When I open them again, nothing has changed. "Who're you?"

"I am called by many names. I am the world. I am the universe. I am God. I am Truth. I am all. I am one. And I am also you." Many Names grins at me as it points directly at my face. I don't remember it having a mouth.

This must be some sort of strange dream. That's the only reasonable explanation.

"I can assure you that you're not dreaming, Sabrina. This is most truly real life." It widens its smile until it seems like it's threatening to break its whole face in half. "Well, that isn't the best way to describe it. Real life and Fullmetal Alchemist is more accurate."

Fullmetal Alchemist? But that's fictional. I can't be in a fictional universe, that's not possible. "_If_ that's true, then why don't I recognize you? Shouldn't everyone I meet be from it? You're not from it."

Many Names – I guess that's what I've officially decided to call it – shrugs. "The version you've seen is a different one than the one I am from, which is unfortunate for you. While some of the aspects of what you know are the same in this universe, many things are changed."

Great, it just _has_ to be difficult, doesn't it? "Can you at least tell me what's been changed, to be fair?"

If it says _everything_, I'm going to scream; but, seeing as I kinda will scream anyway…

"Fine," it sighs after thinking for a moment, "I _did_ tell your friend I would be fair. Aside from changes that simply have to do with lack of time, the plot diverges after episode twenty-five."

"By the bitterness in your voice, I'm guessing you were one of those changes that they made."

Nodding, Many Names continues, "The entire ending, along with the villain, is different, and new characters are added in. Certain ones have completely different personalities. Homunculi are created in a different way, and there's a new Sloth. There is a new Pride, since the Pride from your series is now Wrath. And the Gate does not lead to Earth."

Wow, there really were a lot of changes made by the adaptation. "Okay," I say hesitantly. "You have something else you want to tell me, don't you?"

Its grin returns, twice as demonic, and it gives me a mockery of a thumbs-up. "You'll also have a power of sorts, as requested by your friend. To preserve your puny little life, you will be able to heal people simply by using fluids from your body." It probably would blink if it had eyes, but since it doesn't, it settles for exuding the aura of blinking. "Seeing as that might sound wrong in some minds, I shall explain in better detail. _Spit_ from your _mouth_ will be able to heal people if it comes into contact with their skin."

"So I have to _spit_ on them to heal them? Can't there be a less-gross way?"

"You don't have to necessarily spit _on _them, per se. You could lick your hand, or lick them, if that's what you're into, or simply make out. That's what your world refers to it as, right?"

I stare at it in disbelief, and Many Names groans loudly, running its hand over the back of its head. "Okay, okay, I get it! You can heal people without spitting on them, but by shrieking Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of your lungs like a seasick whale."

"_What_?"

"No, you can heal people by simply touching them, but your spit will make your ability stronger, since your healing sort of works through water particles in the air. Are you happy now?"

Are you fricking kidding me? _This_ is the superpower you picked, you bastard?

That has got to be the lamest, and the most confusing, superpower I have ever even heard of in my entire life. Did it look through a lame-superpowers guidebook and pick the lamest one? "Sure," I lie unconvincingly, "sounds great."

It sees through my façade in approximately half of a second, which, considering it probably can read minds, it isn't too embarrassing. "I will admit that you get stuck with the short end of the stick in comparison to the four other people I brought over."

"There are more?" Then this means it's not a coincidence that I'm here. I must be here for a reason, which is easily ten times scarier.

Many Names nods enthusiastically, quite a feat for a creature simply comprised of a silhouette of a body and a creepy grin. "You're the fourth," it says, its smile practically pouring out of its voice. "Since your power is _lame_, as the kids call it these days, I'll also give you a bonus of sorts. One that will move you forward on the chessboard," it concludes, tilting its head to the side in a parody of the gesture a human would make.

I don't want anything to do with whatever it considers a _bonus_. There isn't any possibility that I would agree that it's a good thing. "Why are you doing this?"

It asks, "The bonus or the whole dragging-five-people-into-Amestris thing?"

"The whole thing about dragging five people into Amestris," I answer.

It shrugs and says, "I got bored of watching the same thing happen over and over again, with only three variations. There's the original manga, the first anime, and then the second. So I decided to shake it up a bit by throwing five people into the mix. As for the bonus, it's mainly due to pity."

I ignore the fact that what it just said could be considered extremely rude. "What exactly _are_ you planning to give me?"

"Not a _what_, but a _who_," it corrects, waving its hand in the air lazily.

A Gate – I have to capitalize the first letter – appears out of nowhere right after; it's so sudden that it can't be a coincidence. Its doors open slowly and with an ominous creak, and out falls a boy. _Literally_ falls out, as if he had been dropped from a great height and just happened to fall through the door into this white expanse of space.

He crashes to the ground with a vaguely metallic _bang_ as he lands on his hands and knees – I see that his left arm is automail. Otherwise, I have no idea who the hell he is.

"Who're you?" He asks, slightly confused. "I know the Truth, but I haven't seen you here at all. Or are you another person that's stuck in here?"

I'm about to reply when the Truth, as he called it, interrupts. "I don't have all day to listen to you two play your get-to-know you game. This is where I bid you adieu, and where both of you enter into Amestris and the fight for your lives begins." It claps its hands. The white landscape vanishes and I crash to the ground.

* * *

My first clue that something is wrong is the fact that there is a gigantic rock digging into my side that is incredibly sharp.

If I were Lorelei, I'd say something like how I only wake up with gigantic dull rocks digging into my side, but I'm not, so I won't. Though technically, I just did, but whatever.

I open my eyes and find myself inside an alcove along the wall of a building that forms a narrow street that's more like an alleyway than an actual street. I'm pretty sure that made no sense at all, but I get it, and that's all that really matters right now.

For a moment, I don't remember how I ended up here and my unusual conversation with Ma – the Truth.

By the amount of light in the sky, I'd say it's almost dawn, so around three in the morning.

There's a shuffling from the opposite side of the street, and the boy comes and sits right next to me. "Where are we?" He asks, his voice shaking slightly.

"By what the Truth said, we're probably in Amestris. I'm Sabrina, by the way."

"My name's Tristan." He runs his automail fingers through the pebbles on the ground.

Seems I did _something_ right, seeing as he hasn't tried to kill me yet.

I glance down at my clothes, trying to see if they would attract attention for not fitting in. Blue collared shirt, khakis, and sneakers; I shouldn't get any stares from wearing this. Tristan's just wearing an overlarge shirt, pants, and boots. He should be fine, if nobody questions automail.

I'm not sure how to reply, so I choose to change the subject. "We should probably cut your hair so people don't think you're a hobo." My choice of words is, as always, impeccable and slightly offensive.

"What's a hobo?"

I had forgotten about words being different where he is from. "A homeless person," I explain, not bothering to say anything else.

He pulls out a knife unquestioningly from his boot. "The Truth gave it to me." With one stroke, he slices off his hair a little above the shoulders in a way that shouldn't be neat, but is. It leaves him with dark hair shorter than mine, but still covering most of his face.

I don't bother to wonder why the Truth would give a boy a knife. "Do you want me to braid it?" I ask, because braids always make anything better. Always, trust me. He nods; I start braiding with focus I previously hadn't known I'd possessed.

Behind me, a noise sounds from the end of the street and I pause, looking over my shoulder. A crash comes from the opposite end, and I hear Tristan inhale sharply.

"You are the Shock Alchemist." The voice that echoes from where I'm squinting at places a slight emphasis on the first word. It's not a question.

I freeze when I recognize the speaker as he steps into the light. It's everyone's favorite serial killer, Scar.

"Congratulations, you have eyes." This mocking voice comes from the other end of the street, and I swivel around to see who it is. Dark skin that almost blends in with the night sky is the only thing that catches my attention. "Guess what? I have eyes too. You're the serial killer who's been targeting State Alchemists."

Scar curls his fingers inwards, a small smile adorning his face. "That is correct."

They seem too focused on each other to notice us. I shrink against the building, and Tristan does the same, watching them with wide eyes.

Sparky – that is my new nickname for the Shock Alchemist, deal with it – steps forward. "Not even bothering to deny it, are you?"

"You're not either."

I can swear Scar glances at us after he speaks, but his face remains unchanged.

"Do you at least have a name?" The alchemist reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a pair of jet black gloves. He slips them on as he says, "Because I do. I want to see how dissimilar we are before fighting."

"I have forsaken my name."

"Have you? That's interesting. The name's Larkin Astor, by the way, signed up after Ishval."

Really, I don't know who I should be rooting for. Scar is _Scar_, a serial killer with a single-minded determination on one thing and one thing alone. This other guy, he's definitely more polite, I'll give him that, but something about him seems off. It's like he's putting up a front, hiding some sort of secret.

Larkin smirks lopsidedly, tilting his head to one side. "Did I strike a nerve? Could you perhaps be Ishvalan?" He looks delighted, clasping his hands together and running a finger along the fabric of one of his gloves. He must've noticed something that I missed. Then again, I already knew Scar was Ishvalan.

"I get bored of talking," Scar says. "So why not fight?"

"You never were this friendly with your other victims. Why start now?" Despite still talking, he clenches both of his hands into fists.

"Maybe it's because you're so polite." With this, Scar gestures widely. "Do you want to start?" His voice betrays his annoyance.

I guess expecting a serial killer to be all buddy-buddy with his next victim is too optimistic.

Larkin shrugs and his gloves start to light up. No, they're still black – it's more like they pull in light from the air around them. "Really, it's a pity that we have to meet like this. I think, if we met under different circumstances, we could've gotten along." Bright white radiates around his hands, like it's engulfing them. He lifts one arm up and a portion of the light shoots out from his hand. It hits the opposite wall and scrapes along the brick until it dies out.

I push Tristan further back into the alcove so that I'm between him and the fight.

Scar doesn't even bother to dodge; instead, he stands, unmoving, like a stone. "How does your alchemy work?" If anything, he sounds like he's trying to have a conversation.

I know what he's trying to do. Figuring it out is a lot less easy than asking.

By his expression, Larkin's onto him as well, but doesn't care. Waving his left hand, he says, "This glove allows me to absorb electricity from the air. The other one lets me expel it. Well, that's the simple version, at least. It gets a bit more complicated than that. Care to tell me how yours works?"

Scar narrows his eyes. "It's not alchemy."

"Quite honestly, you're acting like a kid who tells himself that the monsters under his bed can't be real if he can't see them. But we know who the real monsters are. They don't hide in the shadows or under the bed. They're us. We humans, we're the real monsters." His glove has gone back to its former brightness, and a ghost of a smile haunts his face. "The question is if you realize that."

"I've known that since Ishval." Scar sees the next bolt and dodges it by pressing himself against the nearest wall. He pushes himself off of it with his arm-of-destruction and it shatters, bricks collapsing inwards, not on the street.

"Who do we want to win?" Behind me, Tristan's voice doesn't even qualify as a whisper.

I'm about to reply when I realize that I have no idea. "I – I don't know."

Without warning, Scar charges forward, ducking under the shot that's fired at him. He tilts his right arm so that his hand collides with Larkin's left glove, and I can tell what he's going to do before he does it.

He ignores the fact that the light is traveling up his arm and doesn't move until there's a strong smell of what I'm pretty sure is burnt… flesh.

Oh, that's just fricking peachy. Lovely, lovely, lovely, burnt flesh is absolutely lovely. My urge to shriek at the top of my lungs suddenly quadruples.

That's when I notice that Larkin's left hand is gone, along with his entire arm. The fragments of his glove twirl to the ground lifelessly, and the light around his other hand dies out. He stares at it and, completely deadpan, says, "I would clap, but you kind of destroyed my arm."

Scar doesn't seem to regard the armless man as a threat anymore. "You're calm for a person who is about to die," he comments, backing up a step as if in preparation for charging again.

Larkin shrugs – at least, I _think_ that's a shrug – and shifts his gaze to him. "Yes, I suppose I am. I guess I have no qualms–" He stops talking in the middle of his sentence, instead ramming into Scar and using the motion to push himself in the opposite direction.

Of course, this takes him straight towards me, which seems to be his intention. He pulls me up and into the street by my hair – _ouch_ – single-handedly. "–About drawing energy from people instead," he says, wrapping his arm around my throat. "I know it's a brutal method that was retired last century for being _inhumane_. I've only gotten to try it out for myself on a number of small animals, but I suspect that this'll be much more fun."

Scar makes a growling noise in the back of his throat but doesn't say anything.

"See, the glove you destroyed allowed me to take in electricity from the air. The one that I still have lets me take it from living things, along with the other abilities I said, but I didn't think it necessary to mention it."

I keep my arms glued to my side, thankful that he's wearing his military uniform. The last thing I want to do is accidentally heal him.

Lowering his hand slowly, Scar asks, "What do you want?"

Larkin's grip on my neck tightens. "Oh, you seem to think that I'll let her go if you give me what I want! That's too cliché for my likings. No, I think I'll just take her energy and kill you; then I'll be regarded as a hero."

I hear a noise from behind me, but I can't turn my head to see what it is.

"Let her go." Tristan's voice is deadly quiet, but it shakes with rage.

"Huh, you don't want her to die. Would you rather I kill you instead?" Larkin shrugs, pushing me away from him. I stumble to a stop in front of Scar, and turn around. "You're even more pathetic than she is."

"You're not gonna kill anyone."

Larkin raises his eyebrows skeptically. "And who are you to decide that?"

Tristan smirks. "No one, really," he says, seconds before sending his automail arm straight through Larkin's chest. "He was going to kill you. I decided I didn't want him to win." He pulls his arm out of the now-lifeless corpse and lets the body fall to the ground.

Scar inhales sharply and breathes, "Automail?"

"Yeah," Tristan says. "My leg, too; I got them from an accident." Apparently, he has decided to trust Scar, seeing as he wasn't the one who tried to kill us.

Well, he's not lying, I guess.

"He said your name is, uh, Scar?" Tristan asks.

"Yes," Scar says after a pause, "that's correct. And yours?" He addresses the both of us.

Tristan glances towards me, so I decide to answer. "Sabrina Severn and Tristan Severn," I say.

If Tristan questions the fact that I said we were siblings, he doesn't voice it. Instead, he nods as if in approval.

And if Scar questions it – probably because we look _nothing_ alike – he doesn't voice it either. In fact, his silence is what makes me turn to him and notice that his right hand is literally smoking.

"Your hand is smoking."

He looks down at his hand in dull surprise. "Yes, I suppose it is. It's probably from destroying the Shock Alchemist's arm when he was using his alchemy."

"Can I see it?" I ask, not caring that it makes me sound like a stalker.

He stares at me but lets me bring his arm up to my face. I'm sure the only reason he's doing it is because he could destroy me in a second.

If he decides to blow me up, there'll be little pieces of Sabrina floating through the air forever. Whoop-de-fricking-doo, that's just wonderful.

Holding his arm up at the wrist, I examine his hand intently. It looks like the top layer of skin has been fried off, for lack of a better word. Remembering what the Truth said – something about me healing through water particles, whatever that means – I lick a finger on my free hand and poke his knuckle with it.

He hisses and rips his hand out of mine. "What the hell are you doing?" He growls, but even as he speaks, his skin is repairing itself until it's exactly the same as it was before. "What the hell did you _do_? Is it alchemy?"

Right, he has a vendetta against alchemy; I shake my head. "I'm a healer. Not an alchemist."

"I have pieces of dismembered flesh stuck in my arm," Tristan says with eerie calmness. Staring down at his blood-spattered automail, he tightens his fingers into a fist. "It still works, though."

Hell, I am _not_ ready to deal with this. Getting sucked into another universe, I can handle that. Almost getting killed by a State Alchemist is fine by me. I'm fine with being face-to-face with a serial killer. But no, it's the pieces of skin falling off of Tristan's arm that make me want to pass out.

I open my mouth and then close it. "Do you know how to clean your arm?" Please say yes, oh please say yes…

Tristan shakes his head and says, "Not really."

Oh, that's just great! Why don't we march up to the nearest automail engineer and have them fix you right up. _Just ignore the dripping pieces of human, please. _

I bite down on my tongue to keep these words from spilling out. "And what are we supposed to do about it?"

He shrugs, which causes more fragments to fall off of his arm and flutter to the ground slowly. I watch, both fascinated and repelled by the fact that they used to make up part of a live human. "I can deal with it," he says, "given a towel. I'm just glad that my arm didn't break. And also a little bit surprised, really; automail isn't usually able to punch through people."

"Do you know where we can find a towel, or some abandoned clothes?"

Scar glances down at the dead body and then back up. He nods stiffly. "Come with me." He walks to one end of the street and motions for us to follow him once he deems it save.

I do as he says, noting the gradually brightening sky. It must be nearly dawn; people should be out soon. Tristan trails behind me while running a hand through his hair, undoing the braid I hadn't gotten to complete.

We look like the circus has come for a visit, I'm sure of it. First there is Scar, who storms down the street and totally owns the serial-killer look of utter serial-killer-ness. I'm next, with clothes that probably are too modern and an expression of utter monotony. Lastly is Tristan, with long – longish – hair that makes him look like a girl, not to mention his bloody fake arm.

All we need is a clown car and people will start throwing rotten apples at us.

The first person we pass is an older man relying heavily on a nearly-broken walking stick. He gives us a curious look, but nothing more. Guess we already seem suspicious. And he probably couldn't even see the pieces of _ugh_ still lodged in Tristan's arm.

We keep walking, not seeing anyone else until I see a man in a military uniform. He's about to walk past us when he squints at me. "Hey, it's a little early to be strolling around," he remarks.

I wave my hand and give an obviously fake half-hearted laugh. "My brother likes to watch the sunrise, so I go out with him."

The man turns his gaze to Tristan and asks, "Brother?"

"Yes. Is there a problem, officer?"

"And who're you?" He asks, suspicion creeping into his voice as he addresses Scar.

"Our father," I answer before Scar can.

It's a completely ridiculous theory, and I know it. Scar's an Ishvalan that could be the model for a workout magazine; with white hair, red eyes, absolutely _huge_. Though I'm normal height, I'm nowhere near as fit as he is, and obviously Asian, or at least whatever passes for it in this world. Which means black hair, slanted black eyes, and skin more olive than dark. There's also Tristan, who is midget-sized, extremely pale, has brown hair, and automail.

Calling the circus? I think you lost a bunch of freaks?

The officer looks down at me and asks, "Your father?"

"Technically, he's our _adopted_ father, if you get my drift." I hope that this is enough for him, and that he won't perceive the tension and anxiety in my voice.

He turns to Scar and narrows his eyes. "Huh, you look sort of familiar. Have we met before?"

Inwardly, I'm begging that he ignores the obvious urge to blow the man's brains out. Instead, he stays silent. I'm not sure if this is a good or a bad thing.

However, the officer notices something else. "Is that _blood_ on your arm?" He asks Tristan.

Scar apparently decides that enough is enough. He does, in fact, put his hand-of-destruction over the man's face and explode it.

Tristan jumps back and raises his automail arm in a defensive position, as if he expects Scar to attack him next. "What did you do that for?"

"He would have found out eventually." Scar kneels next to the fallen body and takes off the jacket. "Now you can clean your arm." He hands it to me and continues, "So it's time for us to part ways." I shove the jacket at Tristan.

Oh, he is _not_ going to leave us alone with no idea where we are. "No."

He turns to me, scowling, and I remember he's just _killed _a man. "What?"

Tristan sees the look on my face and decides to answer for me. "We have no idea where we are, so we're sticking with you for a while." His voice manages not to shake, and I see he puts all of his determination into the words.

Scar stares down at him in a combination between disbelief and disapproval. "How do I know the military didn't send you out here to gain my trust?"

"Yeah, because the military's preferred tactic is _totally_ sending out children." I roll my eyes.

"You want to travel with a serial killer who goes around killing State Alchemists?"

"From what I've seen, State Alchemists aren't that nice in the first place."

He shakes his head at our stupidity and says, "No." With that, he stalks away down the street, leaving us standing next to the dead body.

I hadn't imagined he would be so utterly insistent. "Oh, _hell_ no," I say, running after him. "We just saved your life, you bastard. Why not give us some credit here?"

"I said no."

"We don't need you to say yes," Tristan says. "We'll just follow you anyway." He starts to rub the jacket against his arm to clean it. By the flecks of _something_ falling off, I can assume that it works.

Ugh. I really don't want to think about what that _something_ is, but it's too late. The image of Tristan's arm stabbing through Larkin's chest replays in my mind with a sick sort of vengeance. "And we will keep following you until you relent. Unless you outrun us, of course, but then how could you know we wouldn't go directly to the military?" Not that we'd actually go to there; he doesn't have to know that, of course.

Scar narrows his eyes and sighs quietly. "I might kill you and dump your bodies where no one could find them. How would you react to that?"

Tristan doesn't waste time beating around the bush. "I'd kill you," he says, and I don't doubt it. "I'd kill you before you kill us." If anyone else said it, it would sound like a thoughtless threat, but since it's him, it comes off as genuine, because he really would.

Before the conversation could go any further, there's a shout from somewhere behind us. "It's him, the serial killer who's been targeting State Alchemists!"

Oh _hell_. It's just our luck to be caught by the police before spending an hour in this godforsaken country.

I whip my head around and see a force of multiple policemen running towards us. Tristan sees them too, and he whips the coat on just as Scar bellows, "Run!" I'm certainly not gonna argue with that, even if he had threatened to kill us.

Gunfire sounds and I resist the urge to fall to the ground. Instead, I keep on running after Scar, who veers onto another street. "I hope you know where you're going!" My voice comes out as a mix between a pant and a shout.

He nods at me stiffly. "I have some idea, yes."

That is not reassuring in the slightest. Though it betrays my unease, I manage to ask, "Some idea?"

"Yes," he growls, "some idea." He blasts open a hole in the side of a building and ducks through it, saying, "In here."

"Yeah, like we're going to _stop_ following you." Tristan rolls his eyes and pushes the sleeves of his jacket up. "With the police chasing us and everything; what kind of idiots do you think we are?"

Scar gives the barest of shrugs that he can give while running through an abandoned building. "You are children, after all."

I dig my nails into my hand but resist commenting that sixteen years old is hardly a child, this world especially. Tristan, however, doesn't bother to resist. "I'm not a _child_!" He yells after ducking under a stray pipe jutting out of the wall. "I'm already – already – already." His voice fades away as he contemplates something. "I don't know how old I am." He's lost all of his former hostility.

That is unfortunate. Living in a weird mysterious gate for who-knows-how-long must've sucked.

"Save your self-evaluation for later," Scar snaps as he doesn't slow down to avoid crashing into the wall dead ahead. He simply sticks out his arm. Wall goes boom. Having that arm will prove to be handy.

I hope, anyway.

"Are we just going to outrun the cops?" I yell at him. Another sudden turn and I'm forced to push off the side of a building to right my path.

"That's the plan."

"That's the plan?!" Tristan practically shrieks. "We outrun them and hope that they don't see us? And then what?" If anything, his voice is getting louder as he continues to talk – yell, really. It's practically like a beacon signaling all military officers in our direction.

That building in the distance looks vaguely familiar. I stare at it as we draw closer. Then it hits me. "In here," I say, running up to the front door and yanking it open. I hope that my suspicion is right.

Hell. It's not right, but it'll do. I don't even remember why it seemed familiar to me, or what it reminded me of. It's an apartment building – thankfully empty – with a staircase visible down the hallway. Looks kind of like my own, which might be why I noticed it.

Once I'm inside, I dart out of view of the windows and hiss, "Close the door."

Tristan glances at me in confusion but does what I say.

I put a finger to my lips and creep forward down the hallway until I reach the stairs.

They follow me – if a bit unsurely – to the next floor and then to the next. We don't pass any people, seeing as they're all probably asleep or getting ready for work. Or school, if Amestris even has schools.

"What are you looking for?" Tristan whispers, watching me as I scan the area.

Instead of glaring at him like I should have, I reply, "A bathroom, an attic, or any empty space we can utilize. I'm not very fond of running about in the open."

A door opens and a man steps out, obviously dressed for work. Judging by his military uniform, he's an officer of some kind. He pauses and turns, and I can see his face. Hughes. "And what can you be here for at this time?" He asks. It sounds friendly, but there's definitely suspicion.

I realize how strange this must look, especially from his point of view. We probably look like a little trio of unhappiness.

Given the chance, Scar would blow Hughes's head up. Tristan would repeat the Larkin incident in a heartbeat if I asked him too. I'll have to take command of the situation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did we wake you?" I ask.

He shakes his head, though traces of the unease still remain. "No, I was just about to head out to Central Command. And you are?"

Think of aliases, think of aliases. Sabrina Severn, you are going to think of aliases or else you'll die. "The Weasleys," I say, "Ginny, Fred, and George Weasley." Hell. "Someone told us about an open house today? Well, an open apartment, really," I correct.

Oh. Bloody hell, I did _not_ just introduce us as three of the Weasleys from Harry Potter. Please tell me I did not.

I did.

Hughes narrows his eyes slightly and then widens them. "You mean the empty apartment? It's down a level. I'd be happy to show you it, though."

"You would?" I paste a smile onto my face. "Thanks so much!" After he nods and turns to go, I whip my head around to face Scar and Tristan, pointing at my grin and mouthing, "_Smile._"

As Hughes reaches the stairwell, he looks over his shoulder to check that we're following and then notices something. "Is that a military jacket?" He asks Tristan.

"Yeah, it is. Little Freddy has always wanted to join the military once he was old enough. Didn't you?" I turn to 'Freddy' and ruffle his hair.

To his credit, Tristan manages to look suitably uncomfortable by blushing up a storm. "Stop it, Mommy, you're embarrassing me!"

No, he could not have said that.

Hughes seems incredibly confused, as he should be, and asks, "Mom?"

Crap. Holy hell, he did say that.

"Yes?" That's more of a question than an explanation. "I'm his _adopted_ mom, of course." I see the unasked question in his eyes. "I'm older than I look. A lot older, really."

His smile returns, albeit more uneasy, and he starts to walk down the stairs. He doesn't press the issue, though I can tell he wants to. "And what exactly drew you to this apartment complex in particular?"

"It seemed like a nice neighborhood," I comment blandly, shrugging.

I try to ignore the obvious fact that he thinks I'm Tristan's adoptive mother. More importantly, I try to ignore the extremely awkward fact that he thinks Scar and I are… together. A thing, an item, doing the do, _married_? But it would be worse if he thought we weren't married. So I do not know what to make of this situation.

Scar is – I don't know how old Scar is. All I know is that I'm closer to Tristan's age than to him.

With further conversation disappearing down the drain, I follow Hughes down the stairs and glance behind me to see how the dynamic duo is… doing. Tristan is wearing an expression of utter terror. He has stuffed his hands into his pockets, which disguises the fact that he has automail. Scar is staring off into the distance like he's in shock or something. It's fantastic.

"Here it is," Hughes announces, standing in front of a nondescript door in a nondescript hallway in a nondescript apartment building in an entirely remarkable world. "Strange, I thought some person would be here to at least welcome you."

"They must be running late or have lost tract of the time. We can wait out here until they get here, it's no big deal. Thanks for showing us where it is!"

He returns my smile and gives a joking salute before heading down the other flight of stairs. "No problem," he calls. "Hope to see you around here soon."

Yeah, like that's ever going to happen. As soon as he's out of sight, I want to collapse like a broken puppet, but that's going to have to wait until we get into the apartment.

Scar is ready to blow the lock off, and Tristan looks like he's about to use his automail again.

I have a different approach in mind. "Why don't we test to see if the door is unlocked before undoing whatever we just did?" I go up to the door and turn the handle. Lo and behold, it opens. With enough squeaking to wake the whole building, but still, it opens. Giving them a glance that means _I told you so_, I tiptoe in to find it's empty.

Right after the door closes, I collapse against the nearest wall like a broken puppet.

"What good is this going to do us?" Scar asks a few moments later. I look up at him in surprise. He seems very fixated on staring at the tattoo on his right arm. "We're safe for what, a day or two at most? Then what are we going to do?"

He said _we_, not _I_. This is progress, even if miniscule. "It buys us time to think of what to do," I snap. Perhaps I'm being mean, but I don't care. "Which, by the way, it beats _your_ escape plan." Hey, _he_ wanted to outrun the cops.

"Sabrina?" Tristan asks, taking his hands out of his pockets and showing their contents to me. "What are these?" It's a mix of paper bills and coins.

"Money would be my best bet," I say. I'm unfamiliar with Amestrian currency. "Scar knows more about it than I do. Show it to him."

Scar looks up from his arm and down at it and says, "Cenz, and a lot of them."

"Define a lot," I say skeptically.

"Enough to buy three train tickets to East City and leave us with change."

I have no idea what this East City place is or where it's located, but I'm not going to tell him that since it would ruin my already shoddy cover. Actually, I never told him a cover story, therefore I wouldn't have one to ruin.

"That's good, right?" Tristan asks. "That way, we can get out of here?"

Scar nods slightly and says, "Yes. But we should wait until the manhunt dies down before we head out."

"And we should leave separately, or as close to it as we can. They're either looking for just one person or three people. Not two and one. Order tickets separately to be safe as well." That is the only improvement I can make to the plan. "The police are definitely searching for you," I say to Scar, "so either Tristan or I will have to be with you at all times."

It's best if I'm the one on my own. I've already proven myself to be capable of lying on the spot – and apparently, quite convincingly. I'm pretty sure Tristan would stare at people instead of replying to them if he needed to make conversation. Scar being alone is off-limits.

Together, they could _hopefully_ come up with a decent cover story without attacking people.

I place a strong emphasis on the _hopefully_.

"You guys should go together. I can handle myself on my own," I say. "I hope that, in being together, you'll be able to talk your way out of a situation instead of attack." I recognize that is a low blow, but I don't care. "Now, if we want to eat today, I'll need to take some of the money and get food. I'll also map out the best route to the train station and see when the best time is, unless you want to improvise."

Tristan passes me all of the money and I frown at it. "How much should I need?"

"Thirty thousand should be fine," Scar says without looking up. Like I'm supposed to know how to count out thirty thousand, which I suppose I am.

I sigh loudly, getting up and walking over to him, waving the money in his face. "Which is how much?"

He takes it from my hand. "_This_ much," he says, giving me three bills and returning my death glare.

I tilt my mouth up in what could qualify as a smile but more so as a sneer. "_Thanks_," I say in a clearly mocking tone, "what could I ever do without you?" I turn to go out the door and then remember something. "Remember, none of you goes out until I get back. And don't make any noise if you don't want the cops here."

"Yes, Mommy," Tristan mutters sarcastically, sitting against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest.

"Love you too, _dearie_. And I mean what I say about not making any sound whatsoever. Do you _want_ to be execution for treason?"

I roll my eyes and shove my annoyance back down before I open the door a crack, checking to see if anyone was out. Nobody is, so I sneak out and quietly shut the door behind me. It's all quiet, thankfully. Everyone has probably already left for work by now.

I walk down the flight of stairs to the main floor and then out the door. Outside, there remains no trace of the search this morning. Maybe the officers hadn't realized we ducked into here, or even got at all to this part of town. Hey, I can certainly hope that this is the case, and they've focused their attention elsewhere.

Once my foot has hit the pavement, I realize that I have no idea where I am going, or where the train station is located. It's probably best to find the station before getting food. I'll have to ask somebody where it is, the horror.

Except that nobody is on the street at all, let alone a random person heading my way. I should find a direction and head that way. But which way is the question. The right seems to lead to a more promising area, so I head there.

There's one person out, a nice-looking lady who's perfectly willing to give me clear directions to the station. I manage to find my way there in less than ten minutes, which is impressive, seeing as it's my first day in Central, and Amestris in general. Aside from the chugging of the train, it's quiet inside.

I locate the nearest worker, who's sitting behind a booth, and walk up to him.

"Can I help you?" He asks politely. No, I've just decided to stand in front of you because I liked the view, you _moron_.

"Yeah," I answer, nodding, "would it be possible for you to tell me the times that a train to East City is leaving tomorrow? I'm planning on visiting family there." Seems like I'm already starting to develop into a fluent liar; I'm not sure if that is a good or a bad thing.

He nods and asks, "Can you hold on a second?" When I nod back, he stands up and retrieves a large binder from a drawer, sitting back down. He flips to a page that, to me, looks random, but surely isn't. "Hmm," he says, dragging his finger along the laminated page. "Trains leave for there at nine, noon, three, and seven. Does that help?"

"Yes," I say, putting as much enthusiasm in my voice as I possibly can. "Thank you so much!"

He smiles at me, and I go back out of the train station. I guess it's time to find a shop that's not ridiculously expensive. Scar _had_ said that thirty thousand… cenz would be plenty, and I suppose he qualifies as a hobo, but I don't want to use it all up at one place.

I spot a rather boring sandwich-shop type place and decide that it couldn't hurt to scope it out. Surprisingly, it's not empty; a few people are waiting in line and others are sitting in booths.

Chalkboards line the walls, with the daily specials written in white chalk. The names of all the orders are underlined, which only emphasizes the fact that they are extremely weird. Oh well, it's not too different than the ones in America. This still doesn't incline me to want to order any of them, though.

One of the customers walks forward and I see there's a refrigerator by the counter, filled with sandwiches and glass bottles of water and juice. Now I know where I'm headed. I walk forward until I'm at the fridge, and I look into it. Thankfully, everything has a price tag written on a tag.

It seems that the sandwiches are four hundred cenz each, and the waters one hundred. That'll give us enough to buy six of both the former and the latter. After a few failed attempts, all of what I need has been picked up. I manage to carefully walk to the end of the line, ending up behind a morbidly obese man. If that was rude to think, I normally would care, but I currently don't have the time to.

Eventually, the line shrinks enough until it's my turn. I'm struck with a blinding realization.

What if there's tax? I'll have to put one of the waters out. Crap.

The cashier raises an eyebrow at my armload of stuff. "That will be thirty thousand cenz," she says in a clipped voice once I've deposited everything on the counter. I pass her the money and she flips through it before opening the register. "Would you like a bag?"

I nod gratefully and say, "Yes, please." She stacks everything in a plastic bag and double-bags it – just in case, she says – then hands it to me. I thank her and then am about to leave when the door barges open. It's an officer, one I don't know this time, but I freeze anyway before quickly recovering.

Everyone in the store is looking directly at the policeman. He waves his hand like it's a dismissal and they return to what they were doing. "Simply a routine checkup," he calls to the cashier. "To see if anyone recognizes any of the criminals who are on our most wanted list. It's more of a precaution than anything else." He scans the room before his eyes land on me, ready to go. "Excuse me; miss, would you mind examining some pictures? I can hold your bag."

I can't give a flat refusal as an answer, so I say, "Sure," and let him take the bag, which he holds with one hand. He passes me a thin stack of papers, and I take a look at the one on the top.

State Alchemist Serial Killer is below a likeness of Scar, and although the clothes and hair need refining, I can automatically tell it's him, mostly due to the deadly accurate expression. There's a WANTED printed above him. Under his official nickname, someone has scrawled details on why he's wanted – as if 'serial killer' isn't reason enough – and then instructions to contact your local Command Center in case you have seen him.

I shake my head. "Do you know his name?"

"Not yet. We're calling him Scar, due to the scar on his face." He motions for me to move on.

Under a new WANTED, there's a drawing of a flustered-looking man in a military uniform with a thin, weedy mustache and not much hair to speak of. Found in Possession of Army Funds. The general warning is the same, though the explanation is different. On second thought, he kinda looks like Yoki. Not that I've seen him around here or anything.

"Is that Lieutenant Yoki?" I ask, showing him the picture.

He nods. "Have you seen him recently?"

The more pressing question is if I have seen him at all, which would obviously be a no.

"No. I visited… the coal mine that he used to run while he was still there. He stood out to me as being incredibly pretentious. I tend to remember a face once I've seen it." Once he nods at me, I go to the one after him.

Yet another WANTED, but this one is followed by a picture of a grinning man with spiky hair and shark-like teeth, wearing what looks like a pimp jacket. I wonder for a second how it is possible for a person to grin that widely, and then look down at the text below. Dangerous Organization  
Institution, it reads. Unless that organization in question is a prostitution ring or a brothel, I do not have a clue what it could be. Oh wait, that's Greed, isn't it? The exaggerated mix between a leer and a grin mixed me up.

"Nope," I say, letting him look at it before moving on to the next one. "Let me guess, you don't have a name for him either?"

The officer sighs. "No, but he calls himself one of the seven deadly sins. I don't recall which."

"Well, there's Pride, Lust, Envy, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, and Wrath." For once, I'm glad Lorelei had a weird obsession with listing them, and that it had been passed down to me.

His eyes light up slightly as he says, "Greed, that's it. His 'business' associates seem to think it's his name."

I put it at the bottom of the stack and stare at the next one. Tristan glares back at me from the paper, or at least a bad interpretation of him. He looks more like a girl than a boy, but I think that's a good thing. Underneath it is stenciled Seen with the State Alchemist Serial Killer.

I shake my head again and flip to the one beneath it. Well, I thought _I_ was horrible at art, but I guess I was wrong.

This time, it's like staring at a bad rendition of me, like a self-portrait gone terribly wrong. It's confusing, seeing how the officer doesn't realize that I'm standing right here. The words below my picture are exactly the same as Tristan's. I blink at myself, pondering how that expression is even realistic.

"That's it," I say, handing the papers back to him and accepting my bag back. "Sorry I wasn't much of a help."

He gives a half-shrug and says, "Usually, nobody is. Thanks for your time."

I walk out and give a sigh of relief that I wasn't recognized. I should go back to the apartment now, seeing as it's just my luck to have someone point me out after seeing my wanted poster.

I make my way back to the complex and check to see if anybody is around before I slip into the doorway.

"You're back," Tristan comments; he's still sitting against the wall. "And you bought stuff."

I nod and deposit the bag on the floor, suddenly reminded that technically, I haven't eaten in I-don't-know-how-long. "Did you honestly expect that I'd use the money to buy new shoes and leave you guys in the dust?"

"Yes," Scar says simply, "I did."

Your faith in me is astounding. I'm more of the type to buy new scarves, but he wouldn't know that, would he?

I suppress an eye roll and settle for simply dropping to sit on the wall next to Tristan. "Then you really need to know me better." A thought occurs to me. "About how long would the train ride from here to East City be?"

"Don't know," he says, shrugging slightly in that infuriating way of his. "I haven't gone on it at all."

That is maddeningly annoying. "The best time that a train is leaving is at nine in the morning. The station would be the most empty then." I point at the bag on the ground, which somehow looks deflated, even though it's full. "I got sandwiches and water bottles at a store; they should hold us over until we have to go."

Scar blinks in acknowledgement of what I said.

"They were showing wanted posters in the store to see if people recognized any of them. We were all there," I say, forcing my voice to have a conversational undertone. "I told the officer I didn't know anyone. For the most part, the drawings were horrible. I could barely tell that it was supposed to represent us." Except Scar; I could recognize his glowering portrayal if a cop asked a toddler to draw it.

Tristan hisses out a curse and slams his automail fist into the ground. "First day here and they already are looking for us."

"But they're looking for _three_ of us, Scar in particular. Like I said earlier, they won't expect two people." I sigh and close my eyes. "We can meet up after the train lands in East City. Until that point, you two will stick together and I'll stay by myself, absolutely no interaction between us at all, understand. Does this sound okay?"

They seem to be in a general consensus of agreement. "So you're the leader now?" Scar asks, annoyance dripping into his voice.

"If you mean I'm the only one who can talk to strangers without first going to kill them, then I am the leader, yes. It's not like I volunteered to lead two people with raging fists of justice."

That sounds like a bad action movie. _Raging Fists of Justice_ is coming soon to theaters.

"It's probably best for somebody to keep watch the entire time," Tristan says softly. "Especially on the train and at the station; they're more likely to keep watch there."

"Good point. By the way, the train leaves at nine, but I'm tired as hell, so I'm taking a nap." I turn away from them, determined to ignore any protests or attempts at conversation. It turns out I don't need to. I'm clearly the one talker in this messed-up trio of sorts. With that, I'm out like a light, even though I don't have a clue what that means.

* * *

I finally open my eyes when someone nudges me – and _hard_. It turns out that it's Tristan, like I suspected. "It's time to leave to go to the station," he says.

"_What_?" I explode. "You didn't, you know, _wake_ me?"

"Scar tried last night and you smacked him in the face and went back to sleep." He shrugs and gives a conspiracy-laden grin. "And he told me that it was my responsibility to get you up, and I thought it best not to wake you until I had to."

Very smart kid, he is.

"That was a good idea," I say, leaning on the wall to help myself stand up. "Where _is_ Scar?" My luck, he's right behind me –

"I'm right here," Scar drawls, crossing his arms once he sees that I've spotted him. "Will you go or not?" He hands me a couple of bills and says, "This is enough for a ticket."

I roll my eyes and snap, "Rude much?"

I'm so unbelievably glad I won't be the one paired up with him. He and Tristan will somehow connect due to their solitude and tendency towards violence, I know it. They'll become bros or man-buds – despite being cross-generational – and then I'll be left as that awkward third wheel. It's practically written in the stars, it's so obvious.

"You guys leave first," I say. "I'll start heading out in five."

They nod and go out, thankfully quietly, and leave the plastic bag of food with me. Being the mature adolescent I am I poke it. There are two of both the sandwiches and the water bottles left. I sling the bag over my arm and take one of the sandwiches out, unwrapping it and stuffing the foil in my pocket. Hey, I'm not a litterer, though I've illegally resided in an empty apartment and am an accomplice of a serial killer.

But littering is so much worse than aiding and abetting a murderer, of course. I may be bad but I do have some shards of my morality left.

Once five minutes have passed and all traces of my sandwich have vanished, I slip out and head toward the station. I guess it is empty hour again, seeing how I walk past nobody at all. Even once I go in, there's barely anybody there. I can easily see Scar and Tristan ordering tickets.

I can also see that they're ordering tickets _extremely_ awkwardly, which is unsurprising. The duo of the raging fists of justice is unskilled in the area of holding a conversation.

I pretend to be very absorbed in reading a sign until they sit down. Then I stroll up to the same spot I did yesterday and peer into the booth. A different person is there, which is probably for the best. "Hi, can I have one ticket for the train to East City at nine?"

"Sure. That'll be forty thousand cenz." I hand her the money, she gives me my ticket, and I go to the first seat I see that's sufficiently far enough from Scar and Tristan.

The train pulls in about ten minutes later. I board after they do and look to find a seat; I don't look at them as I walk by them. Well, okay, I try not to, but I glance over my shoulder at them. Tristan is drinking out of a water bottle and staring out the window. Scar is staring back at me with a weird expression, a cross between brooding and outright hostility.

I eventually make my way to an empty seat and slide over to be next to the window. It's a few seats away from where they're sitting, but it's the best I'm going to find. I tap my fingers on the windowsill and lean my head against the glass before I remember that I don't even remember how long it's been since I've had a drink, and not the alcoholic kind. I pull one of the waters out from the bag – which I've placed next to me – and down it all before putting it back.

Now I can rest again. I don't know how long the train ride's supposed to be, but I suspect it will take a lot longer than it does in America.

But if I managed to sleep for about a full day earlier, then how can I expect to sleep for the next week? And aren't I supposed to stay awake in case the cops show up?

Of course, this doesn't end up mattering, as I fall asleep instantly after closing my eyes. Must be something in the air, because I don't know what else it could possibly be.

* * *

"What are you implying?"

I suppress a sigh at being awoken to loud talking. The people around me are beginning to sneak glances at one end of the train, where the obvious argument is coming from. I rub a hand over my eyes and turn to see who's causing all of the commotion.

My heart sinks and I resist the urge to slam my head against the back of my seat.

It's Scar arguing with a seedy-looking man in a uniform who's pointing directly at Tristan. Both are practically screaming at each other, which is what allows the whole train to hear them.

"What I'm saying is that you and your companion look suspiciously similar to wanted criminals." The officer himself looks suspiciously similar to a 1920s mobster dressing up as a cop, accent and everything. He seems to be the one who's losing his temper, more so than Scar, which is a rarity.

Tristan clenches his automail hand into a fist, though the sleeves of his overlarge jacket cover the movement. "What criminals?" He asks with his voice extremely tight.

"A serial killer who's been going around murdering State Alchemists and anyone involved in the military."

I pray that both Scar and Tristan avoid starting a physical alteration. It's already nasty.

"That's one," Scar growls, rocking slightly on his heels, "and there are two of us."

Oh yay, he can count! An image of him dressed as the Count from Sesame Street pops into my head uninvited, and I shudder. One_ dead State Alchemist, _two_ dead State Alchemists and _three_ dead State Alchemists…_ That's completely horrifying.

The man glares at him with enough force to burn a hole through ten steel bunkers as he intones with an utterly deadpan nature, "Really? I hadn't noticed. Thanks for telling me that. Actually, this killer was seen yesterday morning with two children, one of whom your accomplice bears a striking resemblance to."

Well, that is unfortunate.

Okay, that's enough waiting around for me. Al Capone here might discover something useful if he steps back and stops screaming his opinions out for the world to hear.

I push myself off of the seat, hoist the bag over my shoulder, and walk forward until I'm behind the detective guy. "Would it be possible for you to keep it down? I'd prefer it for my headache to start _during_ my family reunion, not _before_."

Al Capone – it's kinda difficult, seeing as he looks like a gangster but dresses like a cop – whirls around to give _me_ a stare worthy of obliterating the Death Star. He grabs the plastic bag from me and paws through it.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, just about as rudely as he acted.

"You also look suspiciously similar to the serial killer's other partner."

"And you're looking through my _stuff_? Don't you need a warrant or something to do that?"

He holds up one of the water bottles and grabs an identical one from beside Tristan. "See? It's the same brand and style." _That's_ your evidence? Bottled fricking water? Have I been dragged to the Stone Age or something?

I raise my eyebrows, letting all of my skepticism shine through. "Yeah, it looks like we buy the same brand of water. Do you want to arrest me or what?" I hold out my fists mockingly.

Pulling out the uneaten sandwich, he gestures to the one resting on the bench, also right next to Tristan. "Same type of sandwich wrapper!"

"So we went to the same sandwich shop before going on the train. Doesn't mean we plot to kill State Alchemists and overthrow the government together." I roll my eyes and ignore the sharp prick of a headache that's rising to the surface. "It looks to me like you're scrounging for scraps of evidence to please your boss."

Capone glowers at me, shoves my bag back into my arms, and turns around to face Scar. "How do you two know each other, anyway?" Guess he's ignoring the situation and hoping I stomp back to my seat. It's not going to happen, buddy.

Scar's gaze meets mine before he replies automatically, "He's my son."

"Doesn't look like it," the cop comments while smirking. "Tell the truth, and it'll be easier on you and your buddy here." That's a bold-faced lie and we all know it.

Scar glances up, and it looks like he's praying to the heavens for tolerance for the stupid. With a half-shrug, he sits back down on the bench and crosses his arms. "Okay. I guess it's time to come clean."

The man's smirk grows even broader, giving me a sick reminder of a cat that's caught a canary.

"He's adopted," Scar says, which makes everybody important – me, Tristan, and the cop – give him a strange look. This was definitely not what I was expecting.

Tristan seems to take the cue and act like a temperamental teenager throwing a tantrum while freshly off of a sugar high. "_What?_" He shrieks, jumping to his feet. "Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?"

Scar looks like he wants to roll his eyes. "Is that enough havoc to cause here, officer?" He yells over the cries of outrage.

Fed up with the noise, Capone slaps Tristan, effectively ending it, and then stalks out of sight.

I look down at them before I turn to go back to my seat. Now that he's silent, Tristan has a very mischievous look in his eye, and I have to wonder if he planned the whole reaction.

I wouldn't put it past him. I go back to the bench I was before and sit down, pressing my head against the window again. But this time, I don't sleep.

The rest of the ride passes in three hours of blissful silence. By the time the train jerks to a halt, I've gone through the remaining sandwich and water bottle and have thrown the bag in a trash can that's conveniently placed at one end of the train. Quite handy, it being there, it reduces the amount of litter tossed around the aisles.

Once I've made my way out of the station, Tristan walks up behind me, putting up a casual air. I don't turn around to face him, but ask conversationally, "And where's the third conspirator?"

"Right here," Scar says, appearing out of nowhere. "Are we going to go, or do you just want to stand here indefinitely?"

"Lead the way, captain," I sigh, following him when he starts to move away from the station. Tristan walks alongside me, and I remember a question that I never got to ask him. "Hey," I say, "you never did tell me why you called me your mom around that officer."

He looks like he really doesn't want to talk about it, but will anyway because I asked. "I was just getting into the role, you know. That's it." Tristan speeds up his pace until he's walking next to Scar, leaving me trailing behind them, lost in my thoughts. They aren't talking, united in their distaste of casual conversation.

I don't bother to walk faster. Let them have their manly-bonding time and all. I want to believe him, and just for a second, I think I convince myself that I do.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Title_: When in Doubt is another song by Thousand Foot Krutch; the lyrics at the start of the chapter are from it. When Part Two begins, the chapter titles will switch to songs by a new artist.

_Sabrina's Power_: Yeah, I agree with the Truth in that she drew the short straw. It's basically like she's able to heal people, but her spit makes her powers stronger. The precise explanation for it is something that the Truth made up off the top of its mind. In my opinion, the Truth decided all of their powers beforehand, but not the explanations and how they work. Standing in front of a big doorway all the time is hard work.

_Tristan_: Originally, Tristan was going to be 2003 Wrath, but I decided that it was too confusing. Simply, he's the Brotherhood's version of Wrath, obviously with another name, but with similar physical appearance. Since Tristan tends not to talk about himself that much, nobody else in Amestris knows about his past, including Sabrina. So, for now, I'm advising you to treat him as another OC, just a more minor one, but you can think of him however you want.

_Larkin Astor_: He's the Shock Alchemist, and I'll admit that his alchemy is based on Liz's from the Lightning Strike trilogy by Kallypso, but with some alterations. Since Scar mistook Damon for him, Larkin obviously has to look similar to Damon.

* * *

Thanks to all of you who read and/or review this, and a special thanks to my co-conspirators Major Hughes and lilaclily00.

As always, you're welcome to ask questions, review, anything your pretty little hearts so desire. I won't mind, and I'll answer anything that isn't related to spoilers.


	5. Forward Motion

**Current Status**

Damon Pythias: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

Jason Pelion: Staying at the Devil's Nest in Dublith with Greed and various chimeras.

Lorelei Clemens: Staying at the Hughes's house in Central, about to go to the Tucker household at East City to pose as a student interested in bio-alchemy.

Sabrina Severn: Traveling with Scar and Tristan at East City.

* * *

Part One: The Invitation

**Chapter Five – Forward Motion**

"_If we sort this out, would we know how to live like we were different? I know we've both had some doubts, whether things would come around, and look at us now."_

* * *

Griffin Friar

Questions run through my head nonstop although all I want to do is wring the neck of whoever is at fault for making me dream about my biology test. I want to dream about hotwiring cars and fixing engines on quads, not alveoli and catalysts.

My hand twitches, trying to banish thoughts regarding the human body systems from my mind.

"She managed to incapacitate a State Alchemist without a scratch?"

"It looks like it. Any idea of who she is?"

"Not yet; we have to move both Kimblee and McDougal before beginning to focus on her."

I open my eyes and find myself looking up at a very puzzling scene. The whole room is coated in a sheet of ice; people mill around in what I assume are military uniforms, holding clipboards and writing notes. In the middle of the room, one man's hands and feet are frozen to the floor. The other people seem to regard him as a criminal of some sort, even though he's dressed exactly the same as them.

Shifting my gaze downwards, I see that I'm also wearing the uniform, which is blue with yellow and white stripes. Mine seems to have more padding than theirs, which might explain why it's so tight.

To my left, there's an open first aid kit that is filled to the brim with supplies. Gauze, tweezers, antiseptic wipes; at the very top, there's even a huge syringe.

I look up again when the talking in the room stops and see everyone's staring in my direction. That's a little unsettling.

The man frozen to the floor might be the creepiest of them all. He's the only one who looks me in the eyes, and his expression is downright desperate, almost psychotic. He grins – full-blown deranged now – and all of the ice in the room melts, changing to fog.

Everybody in the room can't see anymore, and frenzied talking erupts.

That _everyone_ includes me, but I'm certainly not talking or screaming or anything else.

His demented smile flashes again in my mind and I whip my hand out in the area where the first aid kit was. My fingers close around the first thing I reach – the syringe. It's even bigger than I thought it was at first. I clench it so tightly that I'm pretty sure I'll break it.

Someone grabs my throat, lifts me up, and smashes me against the wall, holding me up by my neck. "Tell me how you knew!"

Hands pinned behind me, I couldn't even see who was attacking me, let alone how to fight them when they're lifting me off the ground with _one_ hand. I'm only able to choke out, "I don't know what you're talking about!" My voice sounds different, like it belongs to another person.

An object that's freezing cold and incredibly serrated slashes my face and I can't keep myself from screaming, "I don't even know where I am, or who you are!"

If I wasn't being held up by my throat by an insane man with what's presumably a knife, I would wonder why I'm suddenly talking in the voice of one of my female classmates. Seeing as I that situation _is_ happening to me, I don't have time to think about this.

The fog starts to clear slightly, and I can barely make out his silhouette to confirm that yes, it is the crazy man from two minutes ago. He observes that I can see him and growls, "Since you're not going to talk without convincing, I'll just have to bring you with me and get you to tell me what you know later."

His fingers tighten around my neck, making my vision spin and blur. I'm sure of one thing – I can't go with him, I have to stay here. Lack of air is causing my body to react uncontrollably, to tense like a steel rod and refuse to relax. Something sharp nicks my hand, and I remember the syringe I grabbed.

I wrench my hand out from behind me and am shouting from the effort it takes to instinctively lash out with it, slashing downwards once I think I've made contact.

The pressure around my throat stops and I can breathe again, though I crumble to the floor, not able to hear the voices I'm sure are there. I'm out cold before the fog stops clearing from the room.

* * *

I jolt awake, terror coursing through my veins.

"If it's not, then I suppose all that leaves is the real thing, huh?" A boy who looks to be my age with golden eyes and hair says, tapping two of his fingers against his forehead. He's wearing a red coat over a black shirt and pants. Weird clothes, I think. Noticing me, he asks, "You alright there, buddy?"

I nod and wave my hand dismissively. "It was just a nightmare." To my right is a window which shows rolling hills and trees passing by. As I look around more, I see that there's an identical one on the other side, separated by high-backed seats with a thin walkway between them. We must be on a train.

"Disoriented still?" He asks, and I nod. "Nightmares can do that. We're on a train headed to Liore. You were sleeping here when we came on about ten hours ago."

That doesn't ring any bells, but I'm too focused on wondering why his hair is in a braid to think about it. My goddamn priorities, screwed-up as always. "I guess I'll remember eventually."

"It must've been a pretty bad nightmare, to leave you shaking like that."

I hadn't seen the person who just spoke before; otherwise I would have realized there was a _gigantic suit of armor_ sitting next to the blonde boy. There's spikes and everything – I have to hold down the rush of questions that come rising up.

"Yeah, it was the first one I've ever had like that. I was in the body of one of my old classmates – a girl, of _course_ – and I was on the floor of some icy prison room. This man, who happened to be frozen to the floor, saw that I was awake and turned all of the ice into really thick fog. He then came out of nowhere and shoved me against the wall by my throat, demanding I tell him something that I apparently knew. I told him I had no idea what he was talking about; he slit the side of my face with a knife. Obviously unable to breathe, I somehow found myself holding a syringe and lashed out, but then everything went black."

The armor turns towards the blonde kid – _moving armor_ – and says – it can _talk_ – "Brother, you think?"

"What was your classmate's name?" Braid boy asks like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

I think for a second and then say, "Lorelei Clemens; I barely even talked to her in school, since we had entirely different classes." The memories of the biology test when she randomly spoke in my mind start to surface, as do the confusion due to the fact that she's technically in a coma.

Blondie curses under his breath and slams his gloved hand onto the windowsill, which makes much more noise than a hand should. "I kind of got into a screaming match with her yesterday at a prison."

"She's the type to get into screaming matches? I can honestly say I did not expect that." But if he saw her yesterday, then that would mean that either she's awake, or something else is up.

Sighing, the armor shrugs his shoulders. "Brother means that he yelled his head off at her while she stared at him, annoyed, then walked away."

"You guys are brothers?" It's understandable that I couldn't tell, seeing as one is a short blonde boy and the other brother is in a suit of armor.

"I'm Alphonse Elric," says the armor, "I'm actually only fourteen years old."

The boy nods and points to himself, declaring, "And I'm Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist!" He seems like he expects me to know who he is.

Whatever recognition he's looking for, he doesn't get it, but that does remind me of something Lorelei said about alchemic powers while in my head. "Griffin Friar, but do you guys know an Isaac McDougal by any chance?"

Alphonse inhales sharply and focuses his pinkish eyes on me before asking, "Why do you want to know?"

Oh, an old classmate of mine spoke randomly in my head while I was taking a biology test and asked me to absorb and call forth his alchemic power or something like that. "A military officer in the dream mentioned his name before they noticed I was awake." I say it like it's no big deal, though I do want to know who exactly this person is.

"He was the Freezing Alchemist and had recently started attacking the military, trying to kill the Fuhrer." Edward taps his fingers on the windowsill and they echo mechanically. "He succeeded in killing multiple people, and two nights ago, he broke into Central Prison. Your friend Lorelei was there; she eventually stabbed him in the neck with a syringe in self-defense, exactly like you described it in your dream." His bitter voice turns accusatory. "How did you know about that, huh?"

Raising my hands like a protective barrier between us, I lean back in my seat and say, "Listen, I already told you I don't know how I ended up here. The last thing I remembered before that dream was taking a bio test at school!"

Alphonse glances at his brother worriedly, even though that shouldn't be possible because a suit of armor shouldn't be able to have expressions. "What do you think this could mean, Ed?"

"I dunno, Al," Edward says; he stares out the window. "Let's investigate the priest in Liore first. Then we can deal with all of this."

I look out into the distance as well, wishing I could be out there instead of stuck on a train. I've never been much for sitting still or staying indoors, which explains why I always have hated school. "You're going to meet a priest in Liore?"

Ed nods and says, "They say he can perform miracles, like transmuting flowers out of thin air. He's gained quite a following of people believing he's the missionary the Sun God Leto."

"You're looking into a glorified magician who has started a cult?"

They must be crazier than I had thought.

Shaking his head, Al says, "We think it's alchemy that bypasses the laws of equivalent exchange. To do that requires a Philosopher's Stone. If he has one, we'll make him give it to us and put an end to his con."

"Al, you don't tell strangers our plan!" Ed jumps up to his feet as he yells at his brother.

I sigh and roll my eyes at his outburst. "You do realize that I have no idea what any of those words mean due to an annoying thing called memory loss, right?" Struck with the urge to move and never stop, I stand up and say, "I'm going to go for a walk around the train for a while. Do you want to come?"

Ed gets up and shrugs, stretching. He seems surprised by the fact that we're exactly the same height. "I probably should; it's a long time until we'll reach Liore."

I get two steps away from my seat when I find myself inches from a tall blonde man with purple eyes.

"Oh, sorry," he says in a smooth voice that gets on my nerves, "I didn't see you there."

It's not my fault I don't even reach his shoulder; I keep quiet, but Ed practically explodes in full caps-lock. "_Who are you calling so small that I walk amoebas for a living?_"

The man smirks, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "I was really talking to your friend right in front of you. Now that I think about it, you two are the same height. If you'll excuse me," he says and dodges around me to continue walking.

Seething with anger, Ed mutters something comprised of mostly curses and stalks away in the opposite direction.

"Hey," I say when I catch up to him, avoiding people. "When the train stops at Liore, can I stick with you and Al for a little bit, just until I get my immediate memory back? I don't think I've got any money on me, and I don't want to end up lost on the side of the road. I would eventually you back, of course, I'm not a freeloader."

He groans, rolls his eyes, and says, "I'll have to talk to Al about it, of course, but it should be fine as long as you stay out of the way and don't get yourself killed."

There's a chance of death? I might have to stay with them longer than I had originally planned.

* * *

"God's children will live upon this land, pray in faith, and ye shall be saved."

What the heck is up with this guy? If he's a preacher or something, at least don't _drone_.

Yeah, several hours later, I'm sitting next to Ed on a barstool as an extremely annoying voice is lecturing about 'Leto this' and 'Leto that' nonstop on a radio.

"So what are you guys, like street performers or something?" Asks the vender whose stall we are currently at. His voice drowns out the preacher.

I resist the urge to drop to my knees and thank him profusely.

Ed spits out his orange juice and slams it on the table angrily. "Seriously, do we look like street performers to you?"

"Well, yeah, that's why I asked!"

Glancing down at our outfits, I have to agree with the vender. Ed's hair is as long as a girl's and is braided down his back, and his outfit isn't exactly inconspicuous. I'm wearing a bright orange shirt since I haven't exactly had time to change. Al is still a gigantic walking and talking suit of armor.

"Let's go, Al. And Grif," Ed adds as an afterthought as he slides off his barstool.

Al stands up and his head smacks into the top of the food stall, jarring the radio off its position on the ledge.

The voice is cut off mid-sentence as the radio smashes to the ground in small pieces – _finally_.

"Since it's useless, can I keep it?" I ask the vender. "I can always use spare parts."

Holding his hand up as Al crouches by the broken radio, Ed smiles and says, "Sorry, accident. We'll fix it."

The vender runs his hand through his hair and asks, "How's that? It's smashed to hell!"

Though I have no idea why he would torture himself by listening to that awful message, I have to agree with him that the radio's completely busted. Wires are scattered all over the place; I can practically see the whole inside.

Ed grins up at him. "Watch and learn, gramps."

With a piece of white chalk, Al draws a complicated array of triangles and circles around the broken radio. He then stands up and crosses his hands. "Okay, here goes!" A flash of blue light and a bang, then the smoke clears and the radio is as good as new.

Pointing at it, Ed says, "There, see, how's that?" He practically sparkles as the crowd around us stares in disbelief and wonder.

My feeling of excitement at this newfound technology is battling my disappointment at my inability to get more spare parts. Currently, the excitement is winning, although just barely.

The vender looks from the radio to him in awe. "Amazing, it's a miracle! You've been touched by the Sun God, just like Father Cornello!"

"So the guy on the radio can also perform miracles?" I ask skeptically. Dammit.

Al interrupts the horde of townspeople about to give me a lesson on Father Cornello and their precious Leto. "It's not a miracle; it's alchemy."

They had tried to explain _alchemy_ and _Philosopher's Stones_ and _equivalent exchange_ to me on the endless hours on the train. I hadn't understood any of it; despite how simple they broke it down; I'm more of a 'doer' than a 'thinker'.

"Oh, so you two are alchemists; that's right, I've heard of them."

Ed closes his eyes and crosses his arms proudly. "Then maybe you've heard of us. We're the Elric brothers. Oh, and there's a random stranger too."

I can _feel_ the love.

"The Elric brothers, you say?"

"Wait, I do know that name."

"The Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, is that right?"

The people gather around Al as Ed smirks, his eyes still closed. They keep talking, their voices crowding over each other's until it's like an entire mob is speaking at once. I lean on the edge of the stall, glad I was introduced as the 'random stranger'.

Al waves his arms around in distress and says, "No, um, it's not me."

Complete and utter silence follows as the townspeople turn to look at me. I shake my head and point at Ed.

"What? You mean it's the little guy there?"

"Who's little? Come here and say that to my face, I dare ya!" Ed screamed, reverting back to full caps-lock mode. He seemed to calm down once most of the people fell down, probably in shock of how a boy his size could be so loud.

"Lift thy voice to God, and the prayers of the faithful shall be answered." The voice on the radio starts again, and _just_ when I had started to hope that the broadcast would be over.

Ed turns to the people lying on the ground and asks, "So, what's with this guy on the radio?"

The vender still seems shaken up by the outburst. He's propped himself up on one arm and the other is extended in front of him. "T – That's our leader, Father Cornello."

Another man decided to join in. "We were lost until he came into town and began teaching us all the ways of the Sun God Leto."

"He grants eternal life to the souls of the faithful."

"He can even resurrect the dead. His miracles are proof that what he says is true!"

Though they _are_ a bit clueless, these people should know that the resurrection of the dead isn't possible, and neither is eternal life. They're a bunch of well-meaning fools who put their trust in the first person who shows them something flashy and exciting.

"So this guy's claiming he can bring the dead back to life? Now that's something I gotta see." Ed says with his voice lined with suspicion.

A few minutes later, we're standing at the back of a crowd filled with cheering people, staring up at a stage at a fat, bald man dressed in black with a white cape-thingy. Flower petals float through the air.

Standing on the top of a suitcase next to Ed, I try to peer over the crowd to get a better look.

The man, who I assume is Cornello, catches a pink flower in one hand and tosses it into the other, closing his fists around it and bringing it up to his face. After a flash of red light, a giant red flower made of glass appears. He spreads his hands, smiling; the pink flower has vanished, causing the people watching to erupt.

"So that's it, huh? What do you think?" Ed presses his hand to his forehead to block out the sun and ends up elbowing me in the face.

Despite standing on the ground and not on anything else, Al is still taller than Ed and I. "There's nothing_ to_ think. That's alchemy. No doubt about it."

Ed, seeing my glare, switches to using his other hand. "But somehow he's ignoring the law of equivalent exchange. He should've only been able to transmute that flower into an object of equal mass."

Umm, what?

_That's_ equivalent exchange? If you start out with something that's one pound, you'll end up with something that's one pound unless you add more stuff in? What they were describing sounded nothing like that. They were using all the technical words, none of which made any sense at all. Well, this doesn't really make sense either, but still.

"And he's changing organic matter into inorganic matter. He shouldn't be able to do that, unless…" Al's voice trails off in thought. He looks towards Ed like he's noticed something.

"Yeah, there's just one way – bingo." Ed's eyes light up as he sees what Al was referencing.

I have known them for less than a day, and I'm already feeling left out. "Guys, remember me?"

"What about you?" Ed snaps, jumping off the suitcase and already beginning to run away.

Sighing, I follow him irritably. "That I have no idea what the heck you're talking about with how he's able to perform alchemy without obeying the laws of equivalent exchange. You obviously found out how he's accomplishing it, but you're not sharing."

By now, Ed's already stalked away, leaving me walking with Al as the crowd begins to disperse. "Sorry about Brother," Al says, shaking his head. "He's always so impulsive."

It's probably a good thing he doesn't know that he's talking to the person who cut off a portion of his front tooth with a nail clipper due to boredom and experimentation. "I can be a bit on the impulsive side as well sometimes," I admit.

"Then you two should get along just fine over time. But, as for Cornello, we think his ring might be a Philosopher's Stone. That would explain why he could do that type of alchemy."

Ed reaches a huge set of double doors and throws them open, gesturing for us to go in. It leads to what looks like a Catholic church, with pews and candles atop an altar.

A girl is kneeling by the altar with her hands clasped in front of her. "O, merciful God… Please, hear me. Hear my prayer, I beg of you… Please bring him back."

"Huh, so this is the almighty Leto?" Ed drawls; he seemingly doesn't care that he's interrupting.

She turns to him, surprise written all over her face, from her purple eyes to her brown hair with pink bangs. Standing up, she says, "Welcome. Are you interested in Letoism?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes; not another one of those crazy cultists.

"Nope, can't say I am – not really the religious type." Ed seems to handle the cultist better than I would, judging by the even tone of his voice. I would have started screaming at her to leave me alone.

I'm the next one she focuses her weirdly purple eyes on, this time with some trace of hope, and asks, "How about you?"

I let myself say, "Thanks, but I'm fine not worshipping some crazy Sun God up in the sky."

"Leto is _not_ crazy!" She takes a deep breath to regain self-control before continuing with much more composure. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. To know God is… to know hope. If we believe in divine grace, then through him all things are possible. If you believed, I'm sure Leto would bless you and make you grow taller!" She holds her hands up as she speaks in self-righteous conviction.

Gritting his teeth with his fists shaking, Ed growls, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Al holds his brother back from lunging at her, saying, "Easy, brother. She's just trying to help."

Amused, I lean against one of the pillars on the edge of the room as Ed collapses into one of the pews. "What about bringing the dead back to life?" He asks, crossing his legs and resting his arms along the top. "Do you believe that's possible too?" Though his head is lowered, he is staring right up at her.

"Yes," she breathes, closing her eyes.

Ed sighs and pulls a notebook out of his jacket pocket. He opens it to a specific page and holds it above his head, reading, "Water, 35 liters; carbon, 20 kilograms; ammonia, 4 liters; lime, 1.5 kilograms; phosphorous, 800 grams; salt, 250 grams; saltpeter, 100 grams; and various other trace elements."

I'm completely lost, not having any idea what he is saying; so is the girl. At the same time, we both chorus, "Huh?"

Slamming the notebook shut, Ed leans forward until he's staring at his knees and says, "That list represents the complete chemical make-up of the human body for the average adult. It's been calculated to the last microgram, but still there's never been one reported case of successfully creating a human life. And you're telling me something modern science can't do, you can do with prayer?"

"Lift thy voice to God, and the prayers of the faithful shall be answered!" She leans forward.

Ed clasps his hand behind his head, still holding the notebook, and looks up at the ceiling. "Did I mention: all of the ingredients I read off, down at the market, a kid could buy every one of them for the spare change in his pocket. As it turns out, humans are pretty cheap."

Huh.

"I can honestly say I didn't know that," I comment, pushing myself up from the pillar and going towards the center towards the room.

I end up standing right next to Al, who hasn't talked for a while now.

She ignores me saying, "No, that's blasphemy! People are – we're all children of God, created in his image."

Laughing slightly, Ed says, "You have to understand, alchemists are scientists. We don't believe in unprovable concepts like creators or gods." He lifts his head up to face the statue of what I assume is Leto. "We observe the physical laws that govern this world to try and learn the truth. It's ironic, really. That through the application of science, we have in many ways been given the power to play gods ourselves."

"So you're putting yourself on the same level as God? That's just – sheer arrogance!" Her voice is outraged, and her hands are trembling slightly.

"You know, there's an old myth – about a hero who flew on wings made of wax. He thought he could touch the sun, but when he got too close, his wings melted, and he came crashing back down to earth. Right, Al?"

Al had been quiet throughout the entire argument, but now he just says a quiet, "Brother…"

Ed jumped up to his feet and says, obviously acting, "I'm sorry, miss… This is difficult for me to ask, but do you think your Father Cornello could even save an arrogant scientist like me?" He gives an exaggerated bow. "Oh, and this guy too," he adds, gesturing at me.

I push down the urge to run out of this stupid church until I get out of this town and nod my head in what I hope is a convincing manner.

The girl clasps her hands in front of her as she says, "Of course! That's wonderful! If anyone can lead you two to the creator's light, he can!"

* * *

I still don't know how we managed to get the girl to believe us, but I'm definitely not buying the fact that an adult man believes our story, especially when he's dressed like a hit man.

"This way please. Father Cornello is a busy man, as you can imagine. But you're in luck. He's decided to spare a moment for you." He leads us into a dimly-lit room through a large doorway with two guards with spears standing guard on either side.

That's not a bad omen at all.

"Yeah, thanks, we understand." Ed is next to Al, so I'm left to walk next to the girl, who remains hopeful and totally ignorant about the whole situation. "We won't take too much of his time."

The man, who had introduced himself as Cray, reaches into his jacket and says, "Good, then it's agreed. We'll make this quick." His voice is bordering on ominous, so I know something's up, because since when do priest-dudes sound ominous?

Though the doors clang shut behind us, I don't look away from him, which proves to be a good thing, seeing as he pulls out a gun and points it at Al with a click. I would try to help, but one of the guards puts his spear against my chest and the other does the same with Ed.

The girl is shocked and asks, "Brother Cray, what is this? What do you think you're doing?"

"Rose, these heathens have come to ensnare and discredit the Father. They're evil. This is God's will!"

She steps forward slightly, holding her wrist, and exclaims, "Brother Cray!"

I catch Ed's eye and he nods slightly and says, "Well, like you said. Let's make this quick!" I take a breath and elbow the man holding me in the stomach, pushing him out of the way.

Ed picks up his guard by the wrist and flips him over his head, slamming him to the floor.

Al punches Cray in the face, which sends the gun spiraling to the ground until it hits Rose's foot; she gasps and recoils.

The guard I elbowed starts to run across the room frantically. I chase after him, lunging at his feet. We both crash to the floor, my hands wrapped around his legs, but the fall knocked him unconscious. I get up, rubbing my head, and run back over to Ed and Al, picking up the spear that's lying on the ground.

"What's this commotion?" The bald man from earlier says as he steps out of the shadows on a platform above us. "Ah, the Fullmetal Alchemist, welcome to the home of our sacred order."

Rose turns to him, smiling, and says, "Father Cornello!" Ah, so it's the bastard himself.

"I must apologize for my disciple's behavior. It would seem they've been misguided."

"Okay, let's say I believe you weren't the one guiding them. What next?" Ed asks, raising an eyebrow as he waits impatiently for an answer.

Cornello smiles serenely and asks, "Have you come to learn the ways of Leto?"

I shake my head and mutter, "If you preach like you did on the radio, no way in hell."

Ed stares up at him, ignoring my comment. "Well, there are a few things I'm curious about. Like how you've been using second-rate alchemy to deceive your followers."

Confused, Rose looks from Cornello to Ed and lets out all of her breath.

"My dear boy, I don't know what you mean. What your doubting eyes see as alchemy are the miracles of the Sun God Leto." Cornello extends his hands and there's a flash of red light for a few seconds before he opens them. A mini statue has appeared in his palm, probably of Leto, I bet. "Could mere alchemy create something from nothing in this way?"

Though I hate the guy and his mindless droning, I do have to admit his power is pretty cool.

Rose smiles and leans towards him slightly, despite the fact that he is more than five feet above her.

"Yeah, that's what I didn't get at first." Ed presses his hand to his forehead and runs it through his hair, not caring that he had the attention of every conscious person in the room aside from himself, which came to a grand total of four. "How can you perform transmutations that ignore the law of equivalent exchange?"

Cornello slams the statue down on the ledge in front of him; he says, "As I said, because it isn't alchemy!"

"Then I started thinking about it. If you'd somehow managed to acquire a certain object to amplify your alchemy, one that's said to make the impossible possible." Ed's eyes open as he says, "That would explain everything."

"What?"

"I'm talking about the Philosopher's Stone." Ed narrows his eyes and says, "Your ring. That's it, isn't it? I've been looking for that."

"The ring is just a ring. I am God's humble servant; it is from–"

His voice is really annoying me. Still holding onto the spear, I wield it in his direction and he stops talking for the moment. "You sure do seem humble, with the arrogance underlining your every word," I growl.

Ed glances at me, amused, before starting to walk towards his direction, expression changing to one of determination. "Still trying to sell that line, huh? If that's the way you want to play it, I guess I'll have to come up there and beat some truth out of you."

"I'll have to join you," I mutter, "never liked preachers like him, or most preachers in general."

"My, you really are quite the incorrigible heathens, aren't you? Rose, dear," he says to the girl looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, Father?"

Cornello keeps smiling serenely, and I have to hold back the part of myself that wants to beat that grin off of his 'humble' face. "That gun there beside you. Pick it up."

"Uh, okay…" Not knowing why, Rose picks up the gun.

"Now child, I want you to shoot the Fullmetal Alchemist."

I turn to Rose seconds after Ed and Al do. She's clutching the gun by her waist in both hands, as if it were a lifeline. "No, I – Father, I can't do that!"

"I am the Sun God's chosen emissary. My word is the word of Leto himself!" Cornello opens an eye – only one – and says demonically, "Shoot him, Rose. It's God's will."

She lifts the gun up to her chin, but her hands are trembling too much to do anything else.

"Why hesitate? When you lost your fiancé to that tragic accident last year, who was it that saved you from the very depths of despair? Have you forgotten?" He extends his hand to her.

"It was you, Father," she whispers.

Cornello puts out his other hand, so it's like he's holding a gigantic bar in front of him. "That's right. It was I who took your hand and led you into God's light. And do you recall what it was I promised you then?"

"You said if I had faith, you'd bring him back to life!" Rose shouts, pointing the gun at Al with her arms extended in front of her.

"Rose, don't do this!" I shift my spear, aiming it in her general direction, and am glad I'm not standing right next to anyone.

Al takes a moment to comprehend that the gun is pointed at him. He puts up his arms and cries, "No, wait! It's not me! Honest!"

She lowers the gun and then – of _course_ – points it at me.

I'm not familiar enough with my new weapon to know how to block bullets like I'm in a B-grade action movie. "I'm the stranger they picked up at the train. He's the Fullmetal Alchemist." I point at Ed, who is seething with rage.

"It's the short one? You're kidding!" The unflappable Cornello actually seems shocked.

Rose refocuses the gun so it's pointing at Ed. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I don't have any choice."

"He's been lying to you, Rose," Ed says, as if having a gun pointed at him happens every day.

"You're wrong! I've seen his miracles! Father Cornello will bring him back to life. I have faith!"

Ed doesn't stop staring up at her; he says, "Fine. Then shoot."

Pulling the gun in to her chest, Rose shakes with fear as she pulls the trigger blindly; the bullet heads straight towards Al's head and knocks it clean off, causing him to fall to the ground.

My heart feels like it has stopped beating entirely.

Ed turns to him and cries, "Al!"

Rose drops the gun and brings her hand to her face, screaming in terror.

"Good. God Leto is pleased. You have done well, my child. Now pick up the gun and shoot the other two as well." Cornello seems remarkably calm for a man who just called in an execution for a fourteen-year-old boy.

"Haven't you made her do enough already?" Decapitated, Al sits up, his voice ringing through the room.

While Ed looks up, unsurprised, Cornello lets out all of his breath in shock and I stare at Al in disbelief. Rose stutters, "But your head! I thought you were–"

Ed, holding Al's head, says, "Don't worry about it. He's pretty solid." He taps his brother in the chest twice.

"Yeah, see? No harm done." Al leans forward and gestures to the inside of the armor, which is completely empty. He takes his head back and puts it on, twisting it back and forth until it fits like it did before it was shot off.

Cornello exclaims, "An empty suit of armor that walks and speaks? Do you still doubt it, Rose? This unholy thing is an abomination; evil of this kind must be purged!" He retreats to the wall behind him and pulls a down a lever.

A _creature_ comes out of the darkness; its red eyes are the first thing I see, but the growling noise it makes is a good indication of what it is. It has a lion's head, complete with huge teeth and claws that could easily bite through bone, but the fur fades into what looks like leather by its back, ostrich-like feet. Its tail looks exactly like that of a snake or a giant lizard. Hell, that is the ugliest creature I have ever seen in my life, and I'm counting my sisters.

"And I believe my chimera should be up to the task."

Is that what the hideous thing is calling? While I was perfectly content to christen it a lion-bird-snake hybrid, naming it a chimera is much easier.

"So this is the sort of thing you do with the Philosopher's Stone. That's just twisted." Ed keeps his hands tucked in his pockets, seeming completely relaxed; it's a sharp contrast to me, who grips the handle of my spear. "Anyway, seeing as Griffin's got the only spear, I'll need a weapon of my own." He claps his hands and presses them to the ground, and blue light flashes as he withdraws a lance from the ground.

Cornello flinches back, even though he's safe on his little stand. "No transmutation circle! So the State Alchemist title isn't just for show, you truly are gifted. However..."

The chimera charges towards Ed but remembers that I'm closer and holding a weapon with the worst technique to ever grace mankind. Of course it has to swipe out with the back of its huge paw and send me spinning across the room, rolling like a dead corpse in an old black-and-white western movie while gripping the hilt of my newly broken spear. My head smashing into the wall is probably the last straw for my consciousness, which storms out and leaves me alone.

* * *

When I open my eyes, I'm surrounded by overwhelming whiteness, to the point where I wince and hold up my hand, as if that could make it stop.

"Oh, the last one finally shows his face!" A vague outline of a person, barely more than a blob, stands right in front of me, allowing me to see its curious lack of facial features. Its voice is like a thousand people speaking at once, and I can't tell its age, or even if it's male or female. "That only took forever and a day."

I look at it, squinting, and say, "Who are you?"

"It's nice, finally being able to introduce myself normally, without being called a variety of rude nicknames, having people actually know my name, or being met with blank stares. I am called by many names. I am the world. I am the universe. I am God. I am Truth. I am all. I am one. And I am also you."

Sighing, I rub my hand across my eyes and then rest it on the back of my neck. "Your arrogance is astounding, but I think I'll call you Bob. World-Universe-God-Truth-All-One-Me is a mouthful, you realize."

I'm pretty sure Bob would have glared at me if it had eyes. "What do you remember about the events that have happened so far? It is a challenging ordeal," it says.

"Honestly, I don't recall much of what happened. There was a biology test that merely served to exemplify my stupidity, then the voices in my head started and I passed out and woke up in a Vanilla Ice song as a girl I know. I woke up on a train and got into a crazy adventure with a suit of armor and a fellow midget."

Now that I put it that way, it does sound like something that would happen in a children's book, and not a very good children's book, to be honest.

Having to live as only a faint blurred outline of a small human being without any facial features must be hard; it definitely would have rolled its eyes if it could. "To put it simply, you're now in another world, one with properties different to your own."

"Alchemists, right? They're the people you're referring to?"

Bob nods and adds, "And other creatures with even stranger powers than alchemy, but that will come later in your adventures. Right now, your newfound friends need you and, quite frankly, I don't want to talk you anymore. This is goodbye for now, young man."

I wave my hand drowsily at it as it snaps, causing everything to go dark.

* * *

Picking up my head from the floor with a groan, I make a vow that I really have to stop getting knocked unconscious every five minutes. My vision blurs with the movement.

The chimera is gnawing on Ed's arm – _gnawing_ on it like it's a bone – but he seems content to simply let it. "You like that, kitty? Go on. Get a good taste!" He kicks upward, his leg reaching above his head, and the creature collapses on its back with a whimper.

His red jacket is in pieces, revealing his arm to be shiny gray; it's not shredded at all.

"Your arm… A brother trapped in armor. I see; it's all becoming clear now." Cornello says with his face shrouded in shadow and expression almost demonic.

Ed rips off his jacket, revealing that his entire arm is made of metal, from shoulder to fingertips.

Cornello shouts, "You did it, didn't you? The one thing even the most novice alchemist knows is strictly forbidden!"

"Why don't you come down here and try me? I'll show you real quick who the novice is!" Ed gestures with his metal arm like he's eager for a fight.

"Rose, this is the price of their sin. These fools attempted human transmutation – the greatest taboo for any alchemist! In their arrogance, they tried to bring someone dead back to life!"

Though my head is pounding, I use the wall to prop myself up and stumble over to Rose, who's staring at him in horror. "Oh no," she whispers.

Arm still halfway up, Ed says, "This is what happens when you try to play 'God' or whatever you want to call it. Take a good look, Rose. Is this what you want?"

Umm, the question isn't being directed towards me, but I wouldn't have wanted it.

"So this is the great Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric – not even half a man! Hell, not even half a boy!" Cornello shakes with laughter as he speaks, and I want to smash my fist into his face.

"And what're you? You're just a phony that can't do anything without a Philosopher's Stone!"

Al reaches out his hand upwards and says, "Father, we just want you to hand over the Stone before you get hurt."

"Don't be absurd! Why? So you can use it for yourselves? Please…" Cornello taps the end of his cane in one hand. "If you fools are really so eager to play God, then perhaps I should send you to meet him instead!" Red light flashes from his ring as his cane gradually transforms into a humongous gun, which he points in our direction.

I know I probably should have waited for five seconds to see if he started firing before I run at the wall, but I do. No time to judge myself for split-second decisions and all.

It turns out to be the right choice, because the room is filled with dust and gunfire, and I can't see anything at all until I wind up in the hallway, facing a bunch of cultists.

I stare at them, then at the solid wall that leads to where I just was, and at them again. One of them seems like he's about to ask me if I'm alright, but I wave him off.

A door suddenly appears and is flung open, nearly hitting me in the face. Confused, Ed glances at me before motioning for me to follow him and Al, who is carrying Rose.

"Well, don't just stand there! After them – these heathens seek to harm the order! They must be stopped!" Though I can't see him, I can hear Cornello yelling at his followers. Judging by the sudden increase in footsteps chasing us, they listen.

At the end of the hall, even more cultists are waiting, the two in the center carrying a staff and a gun and dressed in dark clothes, instead of the usual white.

"That's far enough."

"What're you going to do, boy? You're unarmed and outnumbered." Well, they don't have a huge suit of empty armor on their side, do they? If they did, that would be unfortunate.

"Look, just come quietly. We don't want to have to rough you up."

Ed laughs, claps his hands together, and then brings his real hand over his metal arm, changing it into a blade out of a horror story.

They stare at him blankly before screaming in terror as he tosses them through the air, grinning widely. I follow Al as he pushes past the last of the cultists; Ed rejoins us, cackling evilly, after he finishes beating people up.

It is a very good thing that I don't mind running; otherwise I'd probably be dead or interrogated by Cornello by now, or maybe even both.

* * *

I'm not sure why Al is holding the bell, but I'm not going to question it when he can lift it as easily as if it were a pencil. "What do you think of Cornello now, Rose?" He asks, dropping it on the ground. "He just opened fire. He didn't care that you were in the way."

"But – that's because," Rose says, pausing with her hands in front of her. "What he said back there is true; isn't it?"

Al stops working on the bell and says, "We're not evil. All we wanted was to see our mom's smile again. But our transmutation failed. What we made – wasn't even human."

I lean against the railing as wind blows, watching the scene in silence.

"We learned our mistake the hard way. People don't come back from the dead. Not ever."

She puts one arm down, keeping the other one up. "That's not true. I mean–"

"Alchemy is based on the law of equivalent exchange. The price of even a failed human transmutation was enormous. It cost my brother his left leg." Al removes his head again as he says, "And it cost me my whole body." He leans forward, showing a red circle with lines inside it along his back. "Do you see it? My brother drew that with his own blood."

I glance at Rose, who is staring at him in horror.

"His leg had been taken. He was bleeding. I can't imagine the pain he was in. But through all that, he still gave up his right arm to transmute my soul, and bonded me to this suit of armor." He draws a circle around the bell with white chalk, like he did with the broken radio. "Now, I just want to help him get his body back to the way it was. He wants to find a way to get me back to normal too. It won't be easy. We might even get killed along the way. But that's the path we chose. All we can do is keep moving."

"But Father Cornello said – he said he could do it. He promised me. Just because you and your brother failed, that doesn't mean – it doesn't mean he will!" Rose trembles, leaning forward as she talks.

I turn around and lean over the railing, gaging how high the balcony is. "Listen. I admit I know nothing at all about alchemy except for what I learned today. You see what this did to them?"

She walks over to me and nods, looking down.

"You see that Father Cornello – that his miracles are nearly identical to the alchemy that Ed and Al use? Except for the fact that he can create something out of nothing, it seems like Cornello uses alchemy, or Ed and Al can perform miracles, but we both know it's the first one." Sighing, I tug on the top of the railing, trying to see if it would move. "Eventually, you would have to use human transmutation to get your fiancé back. You're willing to put your faith in an art that has never been perfected and takes body parts as payment, giving you back nothing at all?"

Rose shakes her head and clenches her hands into fists. "I'm willing to put my faith in Cornello and his miracles."

"There you are, you infernal brat!" Cornello says, but it sounds muted.

We both look in the direction of where the voice had just come from, Rose with an eager smile on her face, me glowering. Al points down at the bell wordlessly and picks it up.

Ed's voice rings out confidently next. "Look, can we just cut the crap and talk here? All I want are some straight answers about the Stone. Tell me what I need to know and I'll be on my way. Or we could get the military involved."

Oh right, I'd forgotten that he was a State Alchemist, which is probably a rank in the military.

A sound like a door slamming shut before Cornello says, "Ask your questions."

I'm assuming Ed is smirking while saying, "You could do anything with the Philosopher's Stone, right? So why waste all that power performing phony 'miracles'?"

Cornello must not know his voice is projecting, because he says, "Because with each miracle I can attract new believers to the order, believers who would lay down their _lives_ for my sake. I'm slowly building an army, a legion of holy warriors, unafraid to die! In a few more years, I'll be ready to unleash this mindless horde upon the world! And I'll use the Philosopher's Stone to tear this country apart. Who knows? I might even carve out a slice for you!" He starts laughing manically, but pauses when Ed joins in. "Wait, what are you laughing about?"

Ed manages to stop his laughter enough to say, "I knew it. You really are a novice, aren't you?"

In the silence that follows, Rose gasps and clutches the railing.

"You don't mean that–" Cornello must have found out that he was being broadcasted.

Al, holding the bell up on his shoulder, says, "There were never any miracles, Rose. He lied to you. He lied to everyone."

In his rage, Cornello splutters, "Why you – how long? How long has that been on?"

Ed's voice betrays his delight as he says, "From the start. Your _believers_ heard every word."

"How could you? You'll pay dearly for this!"

Scuffling from below drowns out any further words; and Al puts the bell back down while Rose backs up, horrified. "But – he said – Father Cornello said…" Her voice trails off and she stops speaking, staring at the ground.

"I'm sorry," Al says as the people on the ground start shouting, unsure of what to do now that their religion was revealed to be a fake. "I truly am sorry."

* * *

Later, the setting sun casts rays of reddish-orange light onto the buildings as Ed, Al, and I meet in front of the church that was formerly of the Sun God Leto.

Standing next to me, Al asks, "And what about the Stone?"

"A phony, just like him," Ed spits, hanging his head and closing his eyes. His confidence while confronting Cornello has vanished, leaving him without much to say.

"Oh," Al and I say in unison after a pause.

Ed slams his fist against Al's chest, his hair covering most of his face. "I'm sorry, Al. For a while there, I thought we'd really found a way to get your body back."

"Give me the Philosopher's Stone!" Rose points the gun from earlier at us, her arms shaking twice as badly as they were the first time she held it.

"Rose," Al says quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Ed doesn't seem affected by being threatened to get shot again. "Like I was just saying, it was a fake, it wasn't real. And besides, it's shattered now."

Or he could just be hiding it in his sleeve. But I'm disinclined to believe that thought. Besides, he seems like the type to hide it in his boots.

With her whole body trembling, Rose leans forward and exclaims, "Liar! You want to keep it for yourself, don't you? So you can use it on your bodies; that's right! And so you can try to bring your mother back again!"

"You shut up! People don't come back from the dead, Rose. Not ever, not ever." Surprisingly, Ed is on the verge of tears by the time his shouting diminishes into whispering.

Rose falls to her knees and slams the gun down, letting her hands rest on the ground. "But he promised me, he said if I prayed it would happen. A miracle…"

Ed and Al start walking past her, and I follow them after a second's hesitation.

Tears stream down her face. "That hope was all I had left! What am I supposed to believe in now? Tell me what to do, please!"

By now, we have walked past her, but Ed pauses and says, "I can't tell you that. You have to figure it out." He continues walking. "Stand up and walk, keep moving forward. You've got two good legs, so use them. You're strong enough to make your own path."

Rose raises her head to the sky, still crying.

Having stopped when Ed did, I wait until they've finished walking down the stairs before turning to her. "While that is true, that's one of the most insensitive pieces of advice I have ever heard, and that says something. The longer you stay still, the harder it will be to start again, so keep moving, but at a pace that suits you."

When she nods slightly and holds out her hand, I pull her up to her feet. I don't expect the hug, standing there, frozen, until she pulls back; she smiles slightly despite her face still being soaked with tears.

"You're a bit more sociable than they are," she says, heading in the opposite direction as them.

I shrug as I walk down the stairs, calling, "Who knows? I just met them on the train yesterday. Maybe they'll corrupt me into becoming bastards like they are."

I catch up with Ed and Al a few minutes later, right outside the train station. "You do know you suck at giving advice, right?"

Ed rolls his eyes pointedly and ignores my rhetorical question in favor of asking one of his own. "Back when Cornello was shooting at us, did you run through the wall or was that just my mind playing a trick on me?"

Umm, I dunno?

"Honestly, I do not know," I say, and tilt my head at the brick wall right in front of me that leads to the inside of the station. "Why don't I try it out?" Fully convinced I am going to smash into it and make an idiot out of myself, I hesitantly reach out my hand, expecting it to touch brick, but it goes straight through. I take a step forward, and walk through it like it didn't even exist. "Uh, that's strange."

Al goes in through the door, staring at me in confusion. "How are you able to do that?"

"We can deal with that on the train ride back to Central." Ed waves his hand and leads us over to the ticket booth. "Right now, we've got tickets to buy and a train to catch. I _will_ expect my money back eventually, though."

Of course he does. Nobody here seems inclined to do anything for charity.

"I promise to pay you back as soon as I am able to. But does that mean you're letting me stay with you for the time being?"

Sighing, Ed doesn't answer, instead paying for our tickets and then pointing in the direction of our train, which happened to be leaving in ten minutes. He swings himself onto the train with his real arm and doesn't wait for us to follow before he sits down in the first available seat.

"Is your arm really made of metal, or does it only look like that?" I ask once the train has pulled out.

Ed nods and says, "My leg, too. They're both automail."

I have to force myself to hold in all of the questions that I want to ask. There's this whole train ride, then possibly more, to get to know both of them, and this strange world that they're living in. If I get all my answers now, it'll lead to a whole lot of awkward silences, and I will end up trying to fill those silences with mindless babble and embarrass myself in the process. In the end, I will be forced to dig myself a hole and never come out again for as long as it takes for everybody I know to die.

I can at least have the courtesy to wait five minutes before demanding to know what two of his appendages are made of.

It turns out to be a good thing that I waited, because I fall asleep four minutes later, though I'm not tired at all.

"_Oh, it seems you already found out about your strange new power."_ Bob is somehow speaking inside my head, which I don't put past it. _"You can control your body to go through walls and other solid objects, but it can only last a few seconds. Although they are not strictly objects, you will be able to pass through people as well." _It sighs and continues, _"And with that, I'll take my leave and hopefully will not see you for a very long time."_

Shaking my head like it could clear my mind, I open my eyes to find that the train has stopped moving, and Al is shaking me awake. "How long was I out?"

"The whole ride," Ed says, standing up from the seat across from me and stretching. "It was a little bit weird, you just falling asleep for twenty hours like that. We're in Central Station now."

I stand up as well and look out the window. "That is interesting." Bob's speaking in my mind must have knocked me out, then.

Ed starts to walk out the train with Al, but turns and asks, "Are you coming?"

Nodding, I follow them out into the station.

It's wide and filled to the brim with people milling around like they have nothing better to do. Quite honestly, the way it looks ancient, as if it came from the early quarter of the nineteenth century, is a little bit overwhelming.

"_Finally_, we're through with Liore," Ed says, "and that false priest Cornello too. Bastard was starting to get on my nerves, with all his preaching about Leto."

I nod, still watching the people with a slightly bored expression. "For me, his voice was the deal breaker. If you're a world-famous priest, at least avoid using a monotone."

"You guys should be nice," Al says as he pushes his way past the crowd. Guess having a gigantic suit of armor is handy for getting out of places. People just part ways like they're the Red Sea and he's Moses. "But his voice _was_ rather monotone, wasn't it?"

Somehow, we've made our way out of the station and into the streets of a city I can only guess that they're familiar with.

"It's really bright," I comment, blinking rapidly even though it doesn't make any difference.

Ed makes a noise that sounds like he's agreeing with me, and then continues on his way.

So, I guess this is the start of our little adventure; that apparently goes hand-in-hand with death on a daily basis.

It should be fun.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Title_: Forward Motion is, yet again, another song by Thousand Foot Krutch, and the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from it.

_Envy_: In case you didn't pick up on it, the man that Griffin runs into on the train is, in fact, Envy. Since he eventually will pose as Father Cornello in Liore, he has to get there _somehow_.

_Griffin's Power_: Simply, Griffin can control his body so that he can pass through solid objects, including people. As of right now, he doesn't know how to work it.

* * *

Thanks for reading and reviewing! I probably wouldn't have the motivation to continue this story if it wasn't for you guys.

Also, if any of you have any suggestions on anything to add, whether it be to this story or to the Author's Notes, you're welcome to tell me them.


	6. Alibi

**Current Status**

Damon: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

Jason: Staying at the Devil's Nest in Dublith with Greed and various chimeras.

Lorelei: Staying at the Hughes's house in Central, about to go to the Tucker household at East City to pose as a student interested in bio-alchemy.

Sabrina: Traveling with Scar and Tristan at East City.

Griffin: Traveling with Edward and Alphonse Elric, currently in East City.

* * *

Part Two: Stranger in a Strange Land

**Chapter Six – Alibi**

Featuring: Jason and Damon

"_Made a choice, a trial by fire, to battle is the only way we feel alive."_

* * *

Jason

As much as I hate to admit it, life has settled into a pattern at the Devil's Nest. Aside from the fact that I hate patterns, it's not half bad. At least, it's the best I'm going to get when I'm living at a bar run by chimera and rooming with a Homunculus. What more can I expect from people who think showering is a privilege and not a necessity?

It has been a week since my plummet from the heavens and encounter with The Great Big Blob. I don't particularly like reliving the experience, so I do my best to stop thinking about it and turn my attention towards convincing everyone that I'm not going to steal all their booze the second their backs are turned. I'm pretty sure it's a lost cause, but that doesn't keep me from trying. They don't seem to comprehend the fact that I'm not a person who would go for alcohol.

Six out of the seven days this week, Greed and various chimeras – aside from Ulchi – have come back piss-drunk. Really, it's more of an annoyance than anything else. They're quite loud when they come in.

Tonight is the seventh night, and I'm convinced it's going to happen again. I've locked myself in a spare bathroom in preparation. If this keeps happening, I'm going to move in with Damon, feud or no feud.

Someone bangs on the door that I'm leaning on and I flinch. "What do you want?" I call loudly.

"You're in my room, Jason," Ulchi growls. "Get out of it if you want to keep your hands."

Damn. I had forgotten that Ulchi has made this bathroom his personal hideout. Wanting badly to keep my appendages, I stand up and open the door, laughing nervously. He pushes past me in his haste to collapse in the bathtub, which I take as an invitation to leave.

"You're going to wake up in a puddle of your own vomit," I mutter venomously as I stalk down the hallway. "Everyone in this place is, except me."

In case you couldn't tell, my attitude has not changed one bit.

It's too late to go to the meat store to annoy Damon with my endless stream of chatter about nothing special. Besides, going out in Dublith in the middle of the night probably isn't the best idea to begin with. But seeing as I live with criminals, the common thugs on the street aren't worth a second of my time.

By now, I've given up being astounded by the amount of alcohol that my dear old housemates are capable of consuming in one night. Everywhere I go someone is utterly smashed, and I do mean everywhere. At least in the Devil's Nest, that is.

The only place that I know the chimeras won't even dare to enter is the bedroom belonging to Greed and me.

So, the question is this: uncountable drunken chimeras or one drunken Homunculus?

This is distressing. Is neither an option? Because I'm really hoping it is, but I know it isn't.

My only other option is the closet that Bido sometimes stays in, but the lizard chimera seems to be passed out on the ceiling. Yes, on the ceiling; I don't know how that's possible, but I know that I would _not_ want him falling on top of me in the middle of the night. With my luck, he'd probably think I'm 'Mister Greed' and try to make out with me. He's creepy enough already, without all that happening.

Bedroom it is, then. I'll hide under my bed until Greed falls asleep, which might be a long time.

That's what I end up doing. Turns out I don't have to wait that long, only about ten minutes, which is good, because I'm convinced that there are billions of spiders right next to me.

The door creaks open and I freeze. I'd rather not be discovered by my inebriated roommate when I'm hiding under my bed from him.

I regret that I didn't turn the lamp by his bed off. Because, in my current placement under my bed, I can see him come in; of course, he _has_ to bring a prostitute with him. At least, I assume she's a prostitute, seeing as no other sane person would even _think_ of making out with him, especially when he's wearing his signature outfit that makes him look like a godforsaken pimp.

Well, they're technically not making out yet, but I can tell that they're going to. Unfortunately, my location allows me the perfect vantage point. If I want, I can watch their future actions like I'm channeling the spirit of Bido in all of his stalker glory.

Ugh. More accurately, I _have_ to watch their future actions, seeing as my head is stuck and I am not capable of moving it without alerting them to my presence.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Watching your roommate have coitus with a random prostitute is not what I signed up for.

Greed decides to make the first move, even though it's not technically the first, seeing as they are standing in his – and my – bedroom. He picks her up and throws her onto his bed – literally, _throws_ her – before climbing on top of her.

I feel like I'm being forced to watch a porn movie. This is terrifying; I want to throw up, bleach my eyes out. Anything would be less painful than this; even the bleach is more appealing.

I suppose I could close my eyes, but the sounds that are going to ensure…

He looks down at her and the room is silent, except for my heart thudding in my chest, which is extremely loud. The sounds start when he smashes his lips against hers with a force that surely will leave a bruise in the morning. I can't help it – I squeeze my eyes closed and hope that Bido will fall out of the ceiling on top of them.

Now, to ignore the sounds of mouths meeting, I try to focus my mind on something – anything – else. Alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, zeta, eta, theta, iota, kappa, lambda, mu, nu, xi, omicron, pi, rho, sigma, tau, upsilon, phi, chi, psi, omega; reciting the entire Greek alphabet and I still am not distracted. So I try it backwards: omega, psi, chi, phi, upsilon, tau, sigma, rho, pi, omicron, xi, nu, mu, lambda, kappa, iota, theta, eta, zeta, epsilon, delta, gamma, beta, and then alpha.

The Greek alphabet is in no way helping me ignore what's happening on the other side of the room.

"My name isn't Rachel," the girl says, annoyed, after he whispers something in her ear. "Rachel is my sister. I'm Leah."

This makes me open my eyes and smirk, although I try my best not to. That's gotta be awkward to the max. Nothing like mistaking your prostitute-of-the-week for her sister while you're busy having fun.

Greed smiles with his mouth over her jawline and murmurs, "Right," against her skin. By now he's straddling her and seems to have taken a special interest in her neck. His mouth is moving against it even as he talks, but he slides it down until it's pressed against her collarbone. He buries his head in her neck and nips at it, continuing the process.

I'm watching my Homunculus roommate and a random prostitute engage in what's surely going to wake up the whole bar, or all of Dublith, depending on how good it gets.

Leah apparently gets bored of all this and taps him on the shoulder with one finger. "Turn," she says, twirling her finger into his shirt. He shrugs loosely and detaches his mouth from her neck, licking it before he presses her close to him and flips around, reversing their positions. She runs a hand down his chest and entwines their legs together, putting a hand under his chin and lifting it up until it collides with her mouth. He tilts his head down and suddenly their lips are on each other's again with even more passion than earlier.

Okay, I can't take it anymore. The noises that they're making are loud enough that I can turn my head to the other side without them noticing. I do this, and start mentally going through the Greek alphabet yet again in an attempt to distract myself. It's going to be a very long time before it works.

"What's that bed over there for?" Leah asks, more than slightly out of breath.

"Just the Princess's," he answers, presumably bringing his mouth to her neck again.

She partially sits up, while still remaining on top of him. "Who's the Princess?" She asks icily.

It still sounds like he's busy working on her neck, but he pauses for a second. "My roommate," he explains, voice muffled from being in contact with her skin.

"Does the Princess have a name?" She pulls back even more and I hear her untangle her legs from his.

He keeps holding onto her. "Jason," he murmurs, "Jason Pelion."

Leah pushes herself into a standing position and I assume she's trying to free herself from his mouth and failing at it. "So that's how it is, then?"

"Huh?" He mumbles against her neck.

"You don't even bother telling me that you have a boyfriend before trying to sleep with me?" She sounds utterly pissed, and rightfully so. "Why don't you find your _Princess_ and make out with him? Maybe he'll give you what you really want." She tries to shove him away from her, probably failing. "Will you _stop_ kissing my neck already?"

Greed opens his mouth and reluctantly removes it from her, saying, "Fine, Rachel."

"Thanks," Leah snarls, stalking out of the room. "And my name, like I told you, is _Leah_."

I think it's safe to get out from under my bed now, so I wrench myself out, despite the fact that I'm covered in dust and some other things that I don't want to consider. I brush myself off and shake my head, running a hand through my hair.

"Hello," I say to Greed, who's sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Getting a prostitute to think you're gay with your roommate is quite the feat. Especially when she has not met the aforementioned roommate and it's your offhand reference that's cluing her in.

He looks up and tilts his head to the right. "Rachel?"

Oh no.

"No. I'm Jason. Jason. Your roommate, remember?" Please tell me he _doesn't_ think I'm the prostitute that just left. Or the girl that just left, seeing as I don't recall her being referred to as a prostitute. I guess I automatically assumed she was a prostitute or a stripper or something.

Apparently, his drunken mess of a mind sees me as Leah, Rachel, whatever. "You're Rachel, not Jason."

No, I'm pretty sure I know who I am, buddy. "No, Greed, I'm Jason. You're drunk, go to sleep."

He ignores my advice and stands up, stumbling over to me. I back up and trip over the edge of my bed, which causes me to fall onto the mattress. Somehow he ends up on the bed sitting on top of me, staring at me with his wide purple eyes. "No, you're Rachel," he says, confused out of his mind.

"I'm Jas–" I start to say, but then his mouth is on mine. I freeze and he takes this as an invite to lean over on top of me, practically pinning me to the bed.

This is not good, not good at all.

"Mmph," I stammer, my voice muffled by the fact that he's _kissing_ me.

He sighs against me, pressing me down into the mattress. With his body on top of me, I can't even move at all. My hands are stuck beneath my shoulder blades, which is about as painful as it sounds. He trails his mouth down to my jawline, leaving me free to wheeze in my breath.

"_I'm not a gay male prostitute, Greed!_" I hiss at him, gasping as his tongue grazes a particularly sensitive area. "Greed, _stop_," I scream, choking on my words as they come out. "No, stop," I whisper.

"No?" He asks softly, burying his face in my neck. "You want to stop?"

I nod as much as I can.

Greed nuzzles my collarbone and promptly falls asleep while still on top of me.

I stare up at the ceiling and inwardly curse my bad luck. I should've stayed in the bathroom and told Ulchi to go screw himself. Or let him in, I don't know. At least _he _wouldn't have tried to make out with me. I think.

This is going to be mega awkward when he wakes up, maybe even hella awkward.

For now, I still can't move a muscle with him sleeping on top of me and deciding that now is the best time for a cuddle session. I decide that it's probably best to try to get some rest, Greed pinning me to the bed or no Greed pinning me to the bed.

This is going to be a hella long night. Especially now that I realize he's not wearing a shirt.

* * *

Eventually, I do fall asleep, much to my surprise, because I'm jerked out of a weird dream when I hear someone yell, "What the _hell_?!"

I open one eye and find that not much has changed in the untold hours I've been out. I glance in the direction of the voice to see that Dolcetto is standing right next to my bed, wearing a very stunned expression. "Hi?" I say weakly.

Still sleeping on top of me, Greed stirs slightly and burrows his face into my neck drowsily. He blinks slowly and lifts his head up, groggily gawking down at me. "Why don't I have a shirt on?" He slurs, falling back on my chest before bolting into a sitting position hurriedly. "Why am I on top of you?"

"You thought I was someone called Rachel."

That seems to explain it all. "Please tell me I didn't…"

"You did," I say simply, "now can you please get off of me?"

"Care to explain what happened?" Dolcetto asks, simultaneously confused and amused. "Or are you content to just let everyone assume you slept together last night?"

I've had enough of being held down, so I flip over, causing me to be the one pinning him to the bed. "I _said_ get off me."

Dolcetto rolls his eyes. "I'll just let you resolve your feelings alone. Preferably by ripping each other's clothes off, if that's what you normally do."

"_What_?" Greed and I shriek in unison.

"We heard the noises and the screaming last night. You don't have to hide it anymore." He starts to walk out of the room.

Greed stares down at me in confusion. "Hide what?"

"Your obvious desire to make out with each other," he calls over his shoulder, smirking widely.

I sit there in silence, not able to comprehend what just happened.

"Get off of me," Greed growls, narrowing his eyes. I roll off of him and end up crashing to the floor.

From some other room, I can hear Dolcetto yell, "That's the spirit!" Greed calls back something that is both vulgar and anatomically impossible. Guess things aren't that different here than they were in America.

Oh hell, _what_ have I gotten myself into?

* * *

Damon

Is it normal to want to scream when anybody so much as _mentions_ meat? Maybe I should be a vegan. No, a vegetarian, I do like ice cream.

It's been a week and a half since I first arrived here in Dublith. Not much has happened, other than my ex-best friend appearing like some sort of stalker. Well, not much has happened after I got sucked into a fictional world, of course. Somehow, I can't forget about that. I wonder why. Note the sarcasm, please.

Right now, I'm sitting out at the counter in Curtis Meats, tapping my fingers on the legs of my chair. I just opened up the shop and I'm not very keen on sitting here for long. What I actually want to do is play Xbox Live, but I'm not sure that's been invented yet.

The door opens and I look up to see that, lo and behold, it's Jason. He looks positively rumpled, in the bad way, of course. He runs up to the counter and slams his hands on it. "Please tell me you have an extra bedroom I can stay in."

That was not what I was expecting. "What?"

"I can't stay at the Devil's Nest any longer."

"You finally come to your senses or something?" I tilt my chair forward.

He glares at me and snaps, "No! It's Greed."

I make a sound that vaguely resembles, "Hmm?" The unexpectedness is piling up. I'll have to find another bedroom to put it all in.

"He came home totally drunk last night. With a prostitute," he adds bitterly.

"Did they keep you up all night? Or did you wish you could join in?" By far, he's the last person I'd suspect to be jealous. Of the Homunculus or the prostitute, I don't know.

Jason shakes his head and sighs loudly. "No. They started making out and getting really into it. I was hiding under my bed and kind of couldn't move at all."

I mutter, "Creeper, much?"

"'Hi; I'm Greed's roommate, Jason. I just thought that the best time to introduce myself would be when you two are engaged in intense foreplay. I'll be hiding under my bed in case you want a third party to join in.'" He grimaces. "That's what I should've done?!"

I roll my eyes and send my chair back to the ground. "And then what happened? They moved to your bed and made out there?"

"Somehow, they got to talking about me and that led to her thinking he was gay. She stormed out in a rage."

I tell myself that I absolutely _cannot_ smile or laugh at this. He is being perfectly serious and it sounds like it's going to get even worse. That is, even funnier; so if I start laughing now, he will shoot me in the kneecaps.

Jason runs a hand through his hair. By now, he's started pacing throughout the shop. "That's when I decided to extract myself from under my bed. When I stood up, he thought that I was the prostitute."

I can see where this is going, and I don't like it one bit.

"He got up and _climbed_ on me like I was a freaking chair. I told him that he was drunk and to go to sleep, but he didn't listen. He _kissed_ me. Like made out with me while thinking I was a girl prostitute." He lowers his voice and hisses, "Then he fell asleep _on top of _me. As if pinning me to the bed with his body wasn't enough," he growls. "Now everyone thinks we're in… gays with each other."

In gays with each other doesn't even make any sense. "And you want to live with me to get away from all the gossip?"

"They think I'm sleeping with a Homunculus! Like I'm a gay male prostitute or something like that!"

Judging by the lovely string of luck that I've – we've – had already, Dante and Lyra choosing this moment to walk in should be obvious. The look on their faces shows that they heard at least the _gay male prostitute_ bit.

Jason turns around to face them and mutters something beneath his breath that would be bleeped out on a pirate radio.

"Hello," Dante says, unsure of what to say.

"Why would they think you're a gay male prostitute?" Lyra asks drily. "Unless you _are_ a gay male prostitute, to which I'm sorry to hear that."

"I am _not_, thanks for asking. And I'd rather not talk about all of that right now."

Lyra turns to me and asks, "Are _you_ a gay male prostitute, then?"

"Lyra, what have I told you about politeness?" Dante scolds.

I ignore the last comment and say, "Do I _look_ like a gay male prostitute to you?" I see that she's about to answer. "That was rhetorical. I'll go get your usual order now, then." I dart into the kitchen and see that Mason's there. "Can you make Dante's usual order?"

He nods and pulls out a wickedly sharp knife. "Shouldn't you go back out there?"

"My old friend is taking care of that for me. They walked in right as he started talking about gay male prostitutes. Lovely first impression and all," I say.

"I can't blame you for wanting to stay back here. But why were you talking about gay male prostitutes in the first place?" He starts getting the meat ready as he talks.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Damon Pythias and the Gay Male Prostitute; I'm sure it'll be a hit TV show some day.

Mason weighs the now-packaged meat on a scale and hands it to me. "Eight-hundred and fifty cenz, remember," he says.

"Yeah," I say, reluctantly walking out into the shop again.

Jason and Lyra are now arguing, while Dante is standing off to the side with an expression that is clearly a cry for patience. They stop yelling at each other when I come in, and turn toward me at the same time.

"What's your opinion on prostitutes?" Lyra asks, glaring at Jason out of the corner of her eye.

This is going to be a very trying day. "Why do you ask?"

She shifts her focus to me and narrows her eyes. "_Jason_ here thinks it's funny to make fun of them simply for their occupation. Do you agree?"

Holy hell, what have I gotten myself into? I close my eyes and somehow manage not to slam my head into the counter. "I can't formulate an opinion on them if I don't know any."

A thought occurs to me, and I add, "Except for Jason, that is."

"I am not a prostitute, Damon!" He shrieks at me.

Not yet.

I decide to ignore him and say, "Eight-hundred and fifty cenz, please."

Dante takes out the money from her purse and hands it to me. I look over it and give her fifty cenz back after depositing them in the cashbox. "Have a nice day," she says, her voice strained, "Lyra, stop arguing about prostitution and come with me."

That isn't something you hear every day, unless your name is Damon or Jason, of course. "You too," I call as they walk out.

"Do I act like a prostitute to you?" Jason asks, pulling himself up onto the counter and sitting on it.

"Do you want me to be honest or polite? I can go both ways."

He turns around to face me and glares at me. "That's not helping."

I put my hands up in a faux-defensive position. "This is a judgment-free zone, Jason. Feel free to tell me anything you might be hiding. I can't promise that _I_ won't judge you, but other people won't." Mainly because those other people aren't even here right now. But I don't tell him that, obviously.

He's about to reply when the door jangles open and a girl walks in. Once he sees her face, he freezes and sighs, "Hello, Leah."

She turns to him suspiciously. "And you are?"

"Jason Pelion," he says, as if that should explain everything.

Apparently, that _does_ explain everything. Her eyes narrow and she shifts her purse to her other hand. "Nice to finally meet you," she says in a voice that clearly portrays that the words are a lie. "I would have appreciated being told that your roommate had a boyfriend _before_ getting… intimate with him."

Ah, so this is the legendary prostitute. I decide it would be best to let these two settle out their differences without me interfering.

"I'm sure he would have told you that _if_ he did have a boyfriend." Jason grimaces at her. "If ya had met me, you'd have known that I'm straighter than the edges of a polyhedron."

Why must you always make strange references in everyday conversation? People already hate you without your obsession with math. I barely keep myself from slapping him, which is quite the feat.

"Then how do you know my name?" She asks skeptically.

"Uh, he mentioned it after you stormed out." He's obviously not going to tell her that he was hiding under his bed while they were making out. That wouldn't go down well at all. Ugh.

"He did that while you two were making out, right?"

Jason narrows his eyes at her and jumps off the edge of the counter. "Lady, I'm straighter than a polyhedron!"

Jason Pelion: Straighter than a Polyhedron. That would make a lovely billboard ad.

"Sure you are," Leah mutters. "On second thought, I'm just gonna go out now." She turns to go out without another word. "Have fun not making out," she calls over her shoulder.

"Oh gosh," I growl under my breath once she's left. "You really need to work on the complex art of friendship."

"Screw you," he says, storming out after her.

"Do let me know if that's an invitation," I shout after him.

Mason chooses this as the best moment to appear out of the kitchen. "What's that expression for?"

"I'm just thinking that this is the reason I have no friends."

"You do have friends."

"No. They're more like old acquaintances that have a tendency to talk about prostitution when they have free time." I smile reluctantly at him and bring my head against the counter. "Don't even know why they do that. I've never asked."

He shrugs. "Everyone's gotta have something."

I suppose that's true. Jason's happens to be being stuck under his bed while his Homunculus roommate makes out with a random prostitute. Mine is that I work at a meat store though I'm currently despising all things made of meat. Maybe I should quit working here and go wherever Lorelei is simply to annoy her.

Except that her 'something' is that she most definitely was a serial killer in a past life.

Not that I believe in past lives, but that would make the most sense. Otherwise, I would have no explanation at all for her.

This is going to be a very long day.

* * *

Jason

I'm wandering aimlessly around when I realize that I have no idea where I'm going. It doesn't seem familiar at all, but I haven't been in Dublith long enough to go exploring.

No matter. I'll just walk until my legs collapse from under me and then crawl like some zombie with its legs cut off in a stupid zombie movie. That's usually my game plan. Maybe I'll wind up in another city. Or a sympathetic serial killer will slit my throat and save me from myself.

Either one is preferable.

Am I going through a midlife crisis simply because my drunken Homunculus roommate thought I was a random prostitute and made out with me for a grand total of less than one minute?

Hell. That would mean I'd have to die at thirty-four. I have no freaking desire to die that early. Or late, depending on if my life remains this pathetic.

"Hello."

I swear loudly and swivel around in the direction of the voice.

Greed's standing at the end of the road, looking bored. "That's not very nice to say when I only said hi."

"Hi," I growl back, not bothering to play polite. "What do you want?"

"Aside from nearly everything, to talk," he says, sounding even more bored than he looks. "Will you stop doing that awkward combination of a cheetah's run and a snail's crawl?"

I shake my head and keep stalking away. He follows. "What the heck is wrong with you, man?" I snarl at him.

"A lot of things," he says. "But at least I'm not a whiny teenage brat."

"I'm not a _brat_! And at least I don't make out with people while thinking they're prostitutes."

He pushes down his sunglasses and rolls his eyes at me. "Do you see any reason why I would soberly make out with you? If you say you're not a brat, then why don't you prove it?"

"Why should I, when you clearly think I'm a gay male prostitute?"

Greed sighs and decides to make up his mind. He punches me in the face.

I put my hand on my bruising cheekbone and something in me snaps. "What the hell is your problem?" I shout.

"Aren't you going to punch me back?"

Damon would tell me to avoid this fight at all costs, to ignore the punch and take a train to a random city and to never come back. Lorelei would say to stab him in the eye with a Spork or a kitchen knife, depending on which is closer. "Lorelei, seeing as I don't see a Spork or any knives around, I'm gonna do the second-best thing."

"Who's this _Lorelei_ person?"

"A freaking psycho, that's who," I say. I sigh and go to punch him, but he throws his arm up and blocks without flinching. Holy _hell_; that hurt!

He smirks and asks, "A freaking psycho, huh? And your stance is all wrong."

"She would chop your head off without thinking twice." She'd also get away with it. Lying is a specialty of hers, as is listening to the same band for days in a row. "How would you tell me to fix it, then?" I kick out at him and he twists his leg around mine, sending me crashing onto the ground on my hands and knees. Really, wrists and knees would be more accurate.

"Oh come on, are you even trying? Please tell me that's not your best effort. Pathetic," he says derisively.

Now would be a really good time for my body to start using the weird electrical thing The Great Big Blob told me about. But in order to do that, there would have to be energy nearby. Then it occurs to me. The human body contains electrical energy, doesn't it?

I stagger to my feet and wipe my wrists on my pants, brushing off the pebbles ground into them from the fall. "You're gonna regret that."

His smirk widens as he says, "Then why don't you _make _me?"

"Believe me, I will." I charge at him and grab onto his upper arm, wondering how exactly the transfer is supposed to occur. Turns out I don't have to worry, seeing as the energy just flows into my hand. I ignore the fact that my arm is starting to smolder and it feels like it's going to burn off.

He pushes me away, breaking the contact and staring down at his arm. "What the…?"

I squeeze my fingernails into my hand. "The body naturally contains electrical energy. Taking yours is honestly easy."

"You've gotta shoot it out!" He screams, pointing at my arm. I look down at it and see that it's engulfed in bright yellow flame, up to the elbows.

I do the one thing that makes sense: point my hand in his direction. The fire shoots out at his face, but he raises his arm, which looks strangely like it's been painted gray, and the electrical bolt collides with it and bounces off, smashing against a wall and skidding off until it dies out.

My hand is back to normal now, but I still can't relax it.

"What the _hell_ do you two think you're doing?" Damon is sprinting down the street exactly like a pissed teenager. "There are _civilians_ around!" How did he even find me?

I glance around to see that, yes, some people are standing scattered on the sidewalk, watching this like it's some sort of freak show. "Get away from here!" I yell, directing it at the civilians as well as him. I start running at Greed again.

Damon intercepts me and tackles me to the ground seconds before I would've reached Greed. My hand is caught under me and I hear something – a bone in my wrist, probably – shatter with a sickening sound as it gets stuck in between two bricks. I wince, but another thing has caught my attention. The burning feeling that I had earlier has come back and is getting stronger.

"_Get off me!_" I shriek, and he bolts to his feet, rolling out of the way. I wrench my broken hand out know yet another bone has cracked, but I ignore it. My other arm's covered in fire again; I can feel it singeing right down to the bone. I throw it up and the flame shoots out, taking the burning with it.

But it's headed straight towards one of the civilians, who doesn't seem capable of moving. I'm not able to stand up, let alone run towards them.

Damon launches after it with speed I formerly thought Olympic racers couldn't reach. He easily outruns it and puts himself in front of the citizen. It stops an inch away from his face, which shouldn't be possible, and disintegrates in the air. He doesn't even flinch, instead marching to Greed and punching him.

That's the last thing I see before a freezing feeling washes over me. My head hits the ground and I'm out cold.

* * *

Damon

I realize that it probably was not a good idea to punch Greed in the face, especially when the cops are closing in on us.

Yes, I did say cops. Of course, I didn't see them until it was too late, when I'm slammed to the ground and a gun is pointed at my face. "Hi?" I say up at them.

"All three of you are under arrest."

Crap.

All I manage to say is, "Um, what?"

"I _said_ you're all under arrest." The officer shoves his gun back into its holster on his belt when he sees I'm not a threat.

And that's how my unconscious ex-best-friend, his Homunculus roommate, and I got arrested. Maybe I'll tell this story to my nonexistent grandchildren someday. But I'd have to find a wife for that to happen. And, of course, the one person my mind thinks of is _Dante_. I clearly need to go to therapy.

Soon, I'm shoved into an interrogation room, handcuffed to Greed on one side and Jason on the other.

The policeman across from me taps his extremely feminine fingernails against the table we're sitting at. "Why don't you tell us why you were arrested?"

"Shouldn't that be your area of expertise?" Greed asks, tilting his chair back until its two front legs are in the air. "Seeing as you're the _cops_ and all?" He seems very casual for being arrested and questioned.

Detective Ritchie – according to his nametag – slams his hand down. "Just tell me why you got arrested!"

Jason lifts his head up and mutters, "Because you guys can't take a joke, that's why."

"What?"

He sighs and rests his good elbow on the table, dragging my hand up due to the handcuffs. "It's an act we do," he says, "_actors_. Not miscreants or whatever else you label us as."

_This_ is his big plan to get us out of jail?

The cop pulls out a wanted poster, complete with a drawing of a man who vaguely resembles a picture of Greed drawn by a blind man. He asks, "Why don't you tell me why this is you?"

I pick it up and stare at it. The paper's slightly translucent, which probably means they prefer quantity of quality. I put it down and look at him. "This looks more like a shark than anything else."

"I don't see the resemblance," Greed comments. "Why would anybody ever call themselves Greed?"

"Then what _are_ your names?"

Jason takes a deep breath. "My name's Leonard Church. They're Michael Caboose and Richard Simmons." He gestures at me and then at Greed.

You _have _to make Red vs. Blue references, Jason, and especially at a police interrogation? I tell myself to remember to kick him once we get out of here.

The officer looks at me and asks, "Caboose?" He scrawls down something in a spiral notebook.

"I'd prefer Michael, thanks."

"Why don't you tell me your _real_ names, and why you three were fighting on the streets?"

Jason seems offended. "Are you calling me a liar?"

If _he_ can make references to the cops, then so can I. "I know, you know, that I'm not telling the truth. I know, you know, they just don't have any proof. Embrace the deception, learn how to bend, your worst inhibition's gonna psych you out in the end."

Jason glares at me out of the corner of his eye. Greed openly stares at me.

Ritchie groans and asks, "So, let me get this straight. None of you are going to tell the truth?"

"Dude, this _is_ the truth, you just don't believe us." Greed shrugs and lets his chair fall back to the ground.

This seems to piss Ritchie off even more, which is quite the feat. "I'll have to take matters into my own hands, then." He grabs Jason's hand and slams it onto the table, grinding the wrist down until there's a sickening snap.

I'm reminded that his hand – arm, or whatever – already broke in the fight earlier.

Jason grits his teeth together and hisses, but manages not to scream.

Greed jumps to his feet, dragging me into a half-standing position. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" I shout at the same time he says something along the same lines, but with a lot of nasty words included.

"Getting information," Ritchie growls, "you weren't going to tell me the truth any other way. I had to improvise."

"Give me the keys to the handcuffs," I say, standing up, "_now_."

He smirks and says, "Are you _serious_?"

I sense the dust particles in the room and smile grimly back at him before I send them flying at him. They go up his nose, in his eyes, and straight down into his mouth.

Not knowing what I did, he starts to choke on them, clutching at his throat.

I sit back down and cross my arms, tapping my foot against the floor. "Anytime now, _officer_," I say lazily. "It's not like you have all day." In fact, I'm not even sure how long this will take, but I won't tell him that.

Ritchie tosses the keys onto the table and I grin at him mockingly, letting the dust zoom back out into the air.

"Thanks." I unlock both sets of handcuffs and throw them back at him. "Have a nice day."

* * *

"What the hell was that?" Greed demands once we're out of the police station. He's basically holding Jason up and being the only thing that's keeping him from plummeting to the ground.

"It was a necessary action to get us out of there." I say coolly. If I had the choice to relieve the experience, I wouldn't have changed my actions at all. "Now, do you know a healer? Probably don't think you want to go to a hospital."

He shrugs and keeps walking in the same direction. "Can't think of one off the top of my head," he says. "I mostly keep to the same group of people. None of them are healers."

Of course, _this_ is the moment when I see Dante on the other side of the street. She takes one look at us and hurries over, faster than any old lady has the right to move. "Do you need help?"

I nod, and, pretty soon, we're all inside her mansion of a house. She leads us to a room upstairs and then says, "You two should wait outside in the hallway, fewer distractions and all."

"Okay," Greed sighs, sitting against the wall once she and Jason disappeared in the room. "And who is she?" He asks me.

"Dante Alighieri," I say, "she's one of the customers at Curtis Meats. Apparently, she's a wind alchemist." I sit down next to him.

"She's not just a wind alchemist." Lyra appears at the end of the hallway, walking towards us. "She also uses her alchemy to heal people and make medicines."

Ah. I wonder why she didn't tell me that earlier.

"Huh," Greed says, sounding disinterested with the whole thing. "Who're you?"

She rolls her eyes and answers, "Lyra Alighieri, her granddaughter." Lyra opens the door where Dante and Jason went in. "Remember, don't come in."

He waves his hand dismissively at her, and she walks into the room. Once she closes the door behind her, he turns to me. "What was that you did earlier?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Greed pulls his glasses out of his pocket and twirls them in his fingers. One of the lenses has a huge chip in it, probably from the fight. "Do you _want_ me to get pissed off?"

"So you're telling me that you weren't pissed off earlier?"

Putting his broken sunglasses back, he says, "That's right. Stop deflecting the question and just answer it."

Do I _want_ a pissed Homunculus to keep annoying me for as long as he's alive? "Which thing is it that you're referring to?"

"There are a lot of things I'm interested in. First's the fact that you're clearly capable of running at the speed of Damon, or light; next is that you stopped an energy bolt in midair without even flinching. And lastly, what the hell's the deal with you and that bastard of a police officer?"

Hell. I had hoped that he was talking about how I was stupid enough to punch a Homunculus. Or that I was moronic enough to talk down to a cop with a huge temper. Either of those would have been preferable.

"Well? Are you going to talk or what?"

Sigh. "It's kinda a long story."

Greed shrugs. "In case you couldn't tell, we're not going anywhere."

"Um, it's kind of like I can control things that're suspended in the air." It's the best explanation I have for it.

"Ah-huh," he drawls, sounding unconvinced. "And how does that explain everything that I just listed?"

"Okay, the first thing you said was the running, right?" He nods, and I continue. "I took one of those steps that lifted both of my feet off the ground. Or jumped; whichever word you prefer. Then I controlled the air currents around my shoes to make them – and me – go forward at an inhuman speed."

He makes one of those faces that you make when you want to convey to a person that you do not believe them in the slightest. "You're saying you control the air around your shoes to make yourself run really fast."

Now that he puts it that way, it sounds extremely ridiculous. "Yes. The same thing goes for the electricity bolt. It was in the air, and I stopped it and dispersed the particles until they couldn't do any more damage. As for the police station, I controlled the dust molecules in the air."

"You never told us you were an alchemist," Lyra comments. I hadn't realized she'd come out of the room. "It sounds like wind alchemy."

"Can you _stop_ appearing out of fricking nowhere?" Greed mutters under his breath.

She ignores his question and says, "She's healed his hand. He's just out cold now. Most people do that after experiencing healing alchemy for the first time." She turns to me and sighs loudly. "Are you going to maintain your stony silence, or will I have to force you to talk?"

"I'm not an alchemist," I say, which is true, unlike most of the other things I've said. "Although I can see how it sounds like wind alchemy," I add.

"Then what's your explanation for it?" Greed asks skeptically. "Magical ponies flew out of the sky and bestowed their power onto you?"

This is where I should start taking advice from anyone other than Jason. Because what comes out of my mouth is, "The Great Big Blob gave it to me."

I can sense the universal consensus about my opinion drop until it hits the bottom of the chart, lower than Justin Bieber and Adolf Hitler combined. That's impressive. But, then again, nobody here has ever heard of either of them.

Lyra is staring at me like I'm some sort of retard, and Greed just groans and shakes his head.

"Who exactly is The Great Big Blob?" She asks, obviously questioning my sanity.

I really should listen to Lorelei's advice more often, instead of ignoring her. She would've found a way to make them believe in The Great Big Blob, while Jason would mutter something about uneducated savages. What I do is say, "The Great Big Blob is the physical manifestation of our fears."

"The physical manifestation of your fears gave you the power to control particles in the air. You believe _that_?"

"You don't?" I ask, but then can't help smirking.

Greed rolls his eyes and says, "You're lying through your teeth."

"Sure as hell," I answer cheerfully. "And I'm not gonna tell you the truth." I grin at them with as much evilness as I can muster at the moment.

Yet I still know that will be an extremely long time until I get to go back to the shop. Mason's probably worried out of his mind, and the Curtis duo will most definitely chop my head off with butcher knives of various sizes.

Sigh.

It's gonna be a _long_ day.

* * *

Jason

"What the hell is _alchemy_?"

Needless to say, I've managed to regain consciousness after the weird healing incident involving Dante Alighieri. Currently, I'm sitting in front of the aforementioned old woman, confused as hell about what she's talking about.

She sighs, "Alchemy is the science of understanding, deconstructing, and reconstructing matter. Like I've said, it's not that complicated."

"Very funny, calling it uncomplicated," I mutter, uncrossing my arms and looking at my formerly mangled wrist. Apparently, it was _alchemy_ that healed me, but I don't get it at all. I remember Greed saying something about being made from alchemy, but that doesn't mean I believe him about it. He is obviously _insane_, going by his screwed-up fashion tastes.

Lyra, who's sitting next to Dante, groans and shakes her head. "Are you an idiot? It's not hard to understand."

"Ah-huh," I drawl, rolling my eyes and standing up. "And I'll be going now, unless you want me to stay here because of my not-broken-anymore arm."

"How did it even get that way?" Lyra asks, standing up with me. "Neither you or your buddies will say anything about it."

I look around at the room I'm in and realize that I have no idea where I am. "The cops don't like it when you sass them," I simply say.

"You're saying a police officer did that to you?"

"Correct," I say, walking towards the only door in the room, which must serve as some sort of exit. Damon and Greed are sitting in the hallway. The former looks bored – like always – while the latter seems annoyed. This is quite the surprise, seeing as boredom and annoyance have always been their default moods.

"That took forever and a day," Damon comments, sounding – guess what – _bored_. "I'm going to get my throat slit by my bosses. I don't think they'll like me disappearing without explaining why."

Greed gets up and says, "You could always work at the Devil's Nest, you know. Probably could use a face like yours."

"Are you implying that I'm pretty?"

"No. Having you as a bartender will raise our customer's self-esteem. Maybe they'll even buy you a drink out of sympathy for your unfortunate physical characteristics."

I raise my eyebrows and glance to the left and then to the right, not remembering which way to go. "You're one to talk, Greed." I look at Lyra, who has walked out into the hall. "I assume you know the way out?"

She nods stiffly and heads to the left. "You three could form a bar based on your mutual looks. You can take that however you want to."

"Are you calling me _ugly_?" I ask, faking shock.

"Depends," she says, "how you want me to answer."

I stalk after her, letting my shoes clomp on the floor without thinking about it. "You'll regret that, young missy!"

Lyra smirks and goes down a flight of stairs, calling over her shoulder, "Young missy? What, are you channeling the spirit of my grandmother now?"

"That's more Damon's field of expertise," Greed says.

"Leave me out of this!" Damon snaps, annoyed.

Smart guy, that Damon is.

After this, the conversation fizzles out, and Lyra leads us to the front door. "Hope Izumi doesn't fire you," she says to Damon before shutting the door behind us without a single word to either me or Greed.

Huh. I can foresee us becoming best friends in the future. Absolutely amazing, the beauty of friendship, isn't it? I stare down at my now-normal hand and ask, "So, does one of you know how to explain alchemy in normal terms?"

Damon starts to walk down the pathway and out into the street. "It basically is to know what certain things are made up of, which then allows alchemists to break that thing down and make it into something else."

"It gets a bit more complicated than that," Greed says, "it is more–" He stops talking, and I look to see why.

With the crappy day I've been having, it should have been obvious that I saw Leah on the other side of the street, staring at us.

"Hell." Greed, Damon, and I say in unison, exactly like cult members.

If anything, she seems absolutely _pissed_. "I should have known," she yells, marching across the street until she's practically invading my personal space. "You were in on it, right? Funny."

"Huh?" Damon asks. As always, his eloquence astounds me. "What are you _talking _about?"

"You think we're all in… gays with each other, don't you?" I ask, probably ruder than I should be, given the circumstance.

Leah sighs, "Of course I do, you idiot, because it's the truth."

I'm starting to dig my own grave and carve out my gravestone, but I don't care. "So you didn't remember me telling you I was straighter than a polyhedron? Or you just didn't understand it? It's understandable, given your occupation and all."

"Given my _occupation_?"

"You _are_ a prostitute, right? Unless you have really bad taste in men and were drunk off your mind, that is."

"Oh, _hell_ no; I am _not_ getting involved in your petty catfights." Damon shakes his head angrily and storms off into the distance. I wish I was that smart, but I'm definitely not.

Greed turns to look at me, his eyes narrowing. "Are you saying that–?" Um, should I say the truth or not?

"–Yes," I interrupt, "I am. And," I start, glaring at her, "he already has another girlfriend. Or, I should say, an _actual_ one. He isn't gay, in any way, shape, or form."

Leah glares right back at me and asks, "Oh, really? I can't believe that."

"You better; it's certainly true. Her name's Lorelei Clemens; she's not from around here."

"Let me guess, she's from a country that I've never heard of? Men are always so predictable."

Greed rolls his eyes and says, "No, she's from Central. You've probably never heard of her due to the fact that you've never left Dublith." At least he's going along with my ruse. More than I expected from him. He seems like the type to do whatever the hell he wants and only that, not caring about what other people think.

Hey, we're not so different, then. I don't know how to feel about this sudden revelation.

"Greed," I growl, "I think we should run like hell now."

"What?" He mutters back. Maybe I was too quiet.

"Run. Like. Hell." With that, I start to run like all hell has broken loose and is chasing me. It's not fun at all, to say the least, but it's better than probably being attacked by an angry stripper, prostitute, whatever. Once I see that he's also running behind me, I ask, "How exactly do we get back to the Devil's Nest?"

He looks over his shoulder and pales significantly. I take that as a sign that said angry prostitute is chasing after us. "Uh, this way," he answers, pointing and heading towards a side street.

"I hope you're not heading in some random direction," I pant angrily.

The way he doesn't answer, I suspect that is exactly what he's doing. I wish I'd followed what Damon had done when I had the chance.

"Remind me to kill you once we get back."

He stares at me and asks, "_Why_ would I do that?"

I'm about to reply when I see, much to my surprise, the Devil's Nest at the end of the road. I start running even faster and yank the door open. Of course, I _have_ to crash over Ulchi, who was apparently heading out. The chimera lets out a creative chain of swear words that seem to go on for over five minutes.

Greed is right behind me, and he manages to answer the unasked question. "Pissed-off stripper incoming," he says. "Guard the door at all costs."

I don't stick around to hear the ensuring argument. Instead, I rush into the back, going through a list of potential hiding places in my head. How about the bathroom I tried hiding in yesterday, the one that Ulchi proclaims is his and his alone? I throw myself into it, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

Wait, _why_ is there a window here? I thought we were underground. I look out of it and see it leads to somewhere outside. Perfect. Now I just have to figure out how to open it. Somehow, I do, and manage to shove myself through it with only minor cuts on my arms.

It's time to find Damon and hide out at his job for untold hours. Once Leah performs a demonic ritual and channels the spirit of a random sun god, I can come back. Until then, I'm on my own.

I find myself at Curtis Meats less than five minutes later. Sig – I _think_ that's his name – stands at the counter, glaring down at me. "What do you want?"

"To see Damon," I pant. "It's very important."

After a pause, he says, "Damon's in the back, being lectured by Izumi. You probably don't want to interfere."

I wave my hand as a form of a thank-you and go in the back door, brushing past a very confused Mason. As soon as I enter into the dining room, I regret not listening to Sig. A crazy-looking woman is practically screaming at Damon. She swivels her gaze until it rests on me. "And _who_ are you?"

Now I can see why he's so terrified of his bosses. I feel like I want to melt into the floor to get out of her sights. "Uh, I was kinda hoping to explain why he disappeared for a few hours." That is one of the _worst_ things I've ever said in my entire life, which is quite impressive. Or not, I'm not sure what it would be.

"So _you're_ the reason that he ran out of his shift for hours?"

"What the hell are you doing, man?" Damon asks; his voice is filled with both anger and horror. "I can handle myself without your help."

She – Izumi, apparently – stares down at me with unblinking eyes. "And what's your side of the story?"

I gulp, suddenly wanting to be around Leah rather than her. "He ran out to stop me from fighting with an, um, acquaintance of mine. The police got involved, and it got kind of nasty. He went back here as soon as he could, trust me." I don't mention that he left me alone with a piss-angry prostitute and Greed. That would take a _long_ time to explain, and I'm not sure that I want to tell her all that.

"Hmm," she says, apparently thinking about something. "You're a friend of his? I didn't know he had any friends here."

I nod and answer, "Yeah."

She asks, "From the same place as him?"

I'm not sure what exactly he told her, but I say, "Yes."

"And why are your arms all cut up?"

Umm, I was running from a pissed-off prostitute? "I climbed out of a window to get to here." Now that I say it aloud, it makes me sound like an idiot. "It was a very troublesome window. It didn't like me that much."

Jason Pelion: Killed By His Ex-Best Friend's Rabid Boss. What an unusual obituary. I'll become a local legend. _"Kids, don't piss off your friend's boss. She'll kill you, and then your friend."_ Being stuck in the afterlife with Damon doesn't sound too appealing. Whether it is heaven or hell, it's up to fate. If I'm honest with myself, I'm pretty sure it'll be hell. My stunning personality leaves nothing to the imagination.

"So you climbed out of a window to help out your friend?" Izumi asks skeptically.

"Ex-friend," I correct, "we just tolerate each other's presence now. But he helped me out with the police, so I had to do the same."

Damon sighs, "No, you really didn't have to."

"Uh, yeah, I kinda do." I roll my eyes and look at Izumi. "You shouldn't fire him, ma'am. If you want to fire anybody, fire me instead."

She stares at me in disbelief. "You don't even work here."

I grin and say, "Exactly."

Hey, _I_ thought it was funny. And, if I think it was funny, _everyone_ should think it was funny.

Damon groans and shakes his head. "You are impossible, Jason, freaking impossible."

I shrug, knowing that I've made a good point, even if my dignity has been crushed by a person none other than myself. "I try my hardest to be the most impossible a human being can be. That should be obvious. So, will you not fire him if I say pretty please?" I ask her.

Izumi looks like she wants to slap the hell outta me, but is restraining herself for some reason. "What I _should_ do is teach you two a lesson. But, since you are so… _convincing_, I won't." She turns to Damon, who still seems petrified. "In exchange for vowing that you never repeat your actions again, I'll let you keep your job." She then glares at me. "And _you_ will never step foot in this store again, if you want to remain in possession of your limbs."

I nod frantically. "Sounds perfect to me, lady," I say hurriedly, rushing out of the dining room, the kitchen, and the shop in that order. Damon's boss is one _fricking scary_ woman. I'm glad I'm not the one working for her.

And I find myself at the Devil's Nest a few minutes later, hoping that it's safe to enter and that the _other_ scary woman has left. I go around the back until I find the still-open window. Then I shove myself through it again, reopening the scratches on my arms. But at least I'm finally all by myself, for the first time in what seems like forever.

Obviously this is the time that I hear someone banging on the bathroom door.

I slide up to it and mutter, "Yes?" Please don't be the scary lady, please don't be the scary lady, and please don't be the scary lady.

"Jason, what the hell are you doing in my bathroom for?"

Oh, thank everything holy in this world. It's Ulchi, not Leah. While a pissed-off chimera is one thing, a pissed-off prostitute is much worse. I unlock the door and open it, walking out and whispering, "Sorry."

He shoves past me and ignores my apology, slamming the door in my face.

I guess it's time to find my room and collapse on my bed. Except that, as soon as I get near the door, I turn around and head back to the bathroom, tapping on the handle. "Please let me in, Ulchi. I promise not to annoy you."

He reluctantly opens the door and lets me in. "If you make one sound, I'm cutting your tongue out." I don't doubt that in the slightest. He could and would, if he had the chance.

I sit against the wall, leaning my head back and saying, "Just one question."

"Fine," he growls.

"Why didn't you tell me Greed was… _busy_ with someone?"

Ulchi sighs, "That must be Leah. Half an hour ago they were arguing, and I was _not _gonna interrupt them. But guess they resolved their differences."

I'm going to have to stay here all night, unless I want a repeat of yesterday's adventure. Oh, what the _hell_ is wrong with everyone here?

* * *

Author's Notes

_Titles_: Stranger in a Strange Land is a song by the band Thirty Seconds to Mars. Alibi is as well, and the lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from it.

_POVs_: The only time that the narrator's name will be given is at the beginning of the chapter or when the POV changes. I've tried to make it obvious who's narrating what. Hopefully, it won't be that hard to understand, but if it is, I'll change it if asked to.

_Dante_: In the anime, Dante makes pharmaceuticals, which is why I'm having her be a healer in addition to a wind alchemist.

* * *

Due to the direction the story is going in, Damon and Jason won't be in the next few chapters; if everything goes the way I expect it to, their next appearance will be in Chapter Ten. While I do have something planned out that will take place in Dublith before "One is All, All is One", I can't introduce it earlier because of logical impossibilities that take place in the story-verse. And I'm _all_ about the logic, and the sarcasm.

* * *

Okay, I would really prefer to not do this, but I'm going have to change my updating schedule to every other week instead of every week.

Part of the problem is that my chapters are at least ten thousand words each, and it's not that easy to write twenty-five pages in a week, edit them, and end up keeping every scene, and not putting sections into my "Excerpts" document, which comes to about ten pages long.

If I keep updating on this schedule, I'll run out of chapters to post, and I'll have to put this story on hiatus after Chapter Eight, which I happen to know ends on a cliffhanger. So, I hope that by doing this, I'll be able to at least finish the end of Part Two, which would be a better place for drawing a hiatus than where it would be.

* * *

That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I will admit that it was a complete pain in the neck to edit, so I do hope there are no mistakes in it.

And, as always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	7. Escape

**Current Status**

Damon: Working at Curtis Meats in Dublith and staying with Izumi and Sig Curtis.

Jason: Staying at the Devil's Nest in Dublith with Greed and various other chimeras.

Lorelei: Traveling to the Tucker household to pose as a student interested in bio-alchemy.

Sabrina: Traveling with Scar and Tristan at East City.

Griffin: Traveling with Edward and Alphonse Elric, currently in East City.

* * *

Part Two: Stranger in a Strange Land

**Chapter Seven – Escape**

Featuring: Lorelei, Sabrina, and Griffin

"_I don't believe in fate, but the bottom line: it's time to pay, you know you've got it coming."_

* * *

Lorelei

The second I go to sit on the train, I realize that I have no form of entertainment except for Roy Mustang. And I have a growing suspicion that Roy Mustang is not a very good entertainer.

He's sitting across from me, making what I have dubbed his awkward face. If he's going to try to recruit me into his miniskirt army, he will fail at it miserably. He should stick to his job and try not to have conversations with teenagers of any kind.

"So," he says, staring out the window, "anything interesting happen since yesterday?"

You really need to work on your icebreakers, buddy; they suck. "Not really. I barely slept at all, but that's normal."

Mustang raises an eyebrow and asks, "Normal?"

"You're looking at your neighborhood insomniac." I shrug and continue, "It's not really that big of a deal. I've gotten used to it."

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye as the train lurches into motion. "You sort of remind me of someone I know."

"Fullmetal, you mean?" I see his confused stare and clarify, "I remember you saying something about him to Hughes. Guy's a bastard."

"You met him?"

I nod and say, "Right before I went to Central Command. He's the one that told me the truth about McDougal." Yeah, I'm acting a little bitter about the whole situation, but it's warranted. It's not like I'm going to forget about being lied to anytime soon.

He sighs and inclines his head in acknowledgement. "We've never gotten along. He thinks _I'm_ the bastard."

Huh. I wonder why. Please note the sarcasm.

"Yeah, I definitely prefer his brother to him," I say. "But not in that way."

"Ah-huh," he says in a voice that clearly portrays his reluctance to believe my words.

I glare at him, more out of annoyance than true anger. "_Really_, I'm not that into suits of armor, no matter how sweet they are."

Blinking, he probably realizes that I know 'nothing' about Alphonse's true nature. Except that, of course, I know more than he does about it. But I'm not gonna tell him that. I don't want to face even more questions.

"Have you been in East City before?" He asks, obviously wanting to change the subject.

I shake my head and say, "Nope. You have, right?"

"Yes. I'm usually stationed there."

Yeah, I know that. I know more about you than you do. Saying that won't go over well. Should I talk about something else? But what would he want to talk about, aside from miniskirts? "So, what's it like being there?"

Mustang shrugs. "There's always a ton of paperwork, which is annoying." Am I the _only_ person in the universe who isn't bothered by paperwork? I guess so. "None of my subordinates are willing to do it for me."

"Well, isn't that a shame?" I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes. "They should be groveling at your feet. Anyways, have you met Tucker before?"

He makes a face that could mean a yes or a no. "I've seen him once or twice, but have never gotten to talk to him before, aside from the basic formalities."

Maybe if you did, you'd had figured out he's a fricking _psychopath_.

"I'm not very interested in bio-alchemy, which is why I haven't had a conversation with him before." Mustang says, looking out the window again. "What made you decide on him again? You never said."

Because, like I just thought, he's a fricking psychopath. "He's a relatively new State Alchemist. Last year, he nearly failed his exam, and has been struggling to make ends meet. Tucker seems like the kind of man who might resort to drastic measures to keep his job, that's all."

"You didn't pick him because you like little kids and dogs, then?" He smirks.

Fake-glaring at him, I say, "Honestly, I despise children and am indifferent to dogs." I've always preferred cats, simply because they don't bark at any living thing and some non-living things as well.

"Isn't that interesting," Mustang says, clearly meaning that it's one of the most boring things he has heard in his entire life.

* * *

After the entirely uneventful rest of the train ride, we're finally in East City, or at least the city's station. Mostly, we didn't even try to maintain awkward conversation, knowing it to be futile. So yeah, we sat there, doing nothing; fun times.

Once I step off the train, I realize that the station is absolutely _packed_ with people. I'd rather it be filled with cats, but nobody ever listens to me. "Where are we supposed to go from here?"

"To find – ah, there he is." Mustang waves his hand in the air and calls, "Havoc!"

A man waves back in the crowd and jogs towards us; indeed, Havoc. "Hey, Colonel," he says, with his trademark cigarette in his mouth, "new girlfriend?"

"Please. I have standards." I smirk at him. "The name's Lorelei Clemens."

Havoc raises his eyebrows and asks, "The...the girl who took down McDougal?"

"Yes," Mustang says stiffly, heading towards the door. "Now, if we can get going before it's too late."

I roll my eyes and mutter, "Remember, patience is a virtue, Colonel. I understand you're in a hurry to see your girlfriend, but still."

"Which girlfriend is it now?" Havoc asks me.

"Someone named… Riza; he wouldn't shut up about her on the train ride."

He chokes on his cigarette, sending smoke above my face. He _is_ half a foot taller than me; it comes in handy sometimes. He splutters, "_Hawkeye_?"

"_What_," Mustang growls, "are you talking about, Clemens?"

I shrug and keep walking with my arms crossed. "I'm actually a psychic."

"Clemens, what the hell are you taking?" He asks, annoyed.

"Nah, Hughes mentioned a Riza. I just rolled with it." I follow Mustang out the door and glance back at Havoc, who is laughing by now. "That's why I'm still alive. I go with the flow, confusing everybody I can."

"It seems to be working," Havoc mutters under his breath.

Nodding, I ask, "So, where are we headed to, Colonel Mustard?"

"My name is _Mustang_," he corrects, shaking his head. "And we're almost at the Tucker house. I found out where he lives this morning."

He didn't strike me as the stalker type. Huh. "Can I at least get new clothes so I don't go there wearing this godforsaken miniskirt?"

"Honey, that's not a miniskirt," Havoc says, grinning. "That's about twice as long as one. And, if the Colonel had a say in the military uniforms, all female officers would be forced to wear legit miniskirts."

I glower at the back of Mustang's head. "Is that so, you pervert? Would that happen to include your little Miss Riza, by any chance?"

"Hell yes, it does," Havoc answers for him.

"Havoc, Clemens, shut the hell up." Mustang stops walking, and I look up to see that we're at a humongous house. "We're here."

And _what_ do I see bounding towards me with all the finesse of a drunken giraffe? A dog that rivals the house in its size, which I realize seconds before it's pinning me to the ground. "Get off of me, you crazy mutt!"

"Alexander, you know that's bad."

Even while being crushed by a creature straight from the gates of hell, I know that voice. Nina Tucker is standing right in front of me, staring down at both me and the demon dog. "Can you get him off of me? I can feel my internal organ beginning to collapse."

Turns out, Alexander can get up on his own, like the all-grown-up hellhound he is. I pick myself off of the ground and shake pebbles out of my hair, swiveling to look at the girl. "You're Nina, right?"

She nods happily and then asks, "Have I met you before?"

I shake my head and run a hand through my hair to dislodge even more dirt. "Nope, I've just heard a lot about you."

Tilting her head to one side, she asks, "Really?"

The front door opens and a man more evil than Envy sticks his head out. "Hello?"

Hello, my name is Lorelei Clemens. You turned your wife into a chimera. Prepare to die.

Luckily, Mustang decides to intervene before I can introduce myself. "Shou Tucker, right?"

Shou F – _Tucker_ – nods slightly and opens the door even more. "You're the Flame Alchemist? Why don't you come inside?"

Perfect. I can stab your eyes out with a Spork more discreetly when the neighbors aren't able to see. Oh, the irony. I follow everyone else – Mustang, Havoc, Nina, and Alexander – into the house, still glaring at the hellhound.

Tucker leads us into what I assume is the kitchen-slash-dining-room. He sits down, motioning for us to do the same. "Can I help you with anything?" Since the table only has four chairs, and all of them are now taken, Nina clambers up onto his lap. Alexander flops down at my feet, and I resist the urge to bring my legs up onto my chair.

Mustang turns to him – he's sitting next to him – and answers, "Actually, yes. The military has a proposition for you. Don't worry; it's a good kind of proposition."

Glancing at me sideways, Havoc raises his eyebrows, probably silently asking how I got myself into this mess. He's ditched his cigarette and is currently chewing on a toothpick. Where he's getting toothpicks and cigarettes in Amestris, I don't know.

"Go on," Tucker says, not looking like a man who would combine his wife with his dog to get a job. At least, I _think_ it was a dog.

"As you know, Assessment Day is coming up," Mustang says in the most non-threatening voice he can muster. "All us State Alchemists are under a great deal of stress at this time, trying to make ends meet and all. That's why the Fuhrer developed a new program of sorts, to help with the worry."

While Mustang's talking, Nina is peering around the edge of the table at me.

Tucker asks, "A new program?"

"Yes. In exchange for housing a scholar for a week, you'll be granted a hundred thousand cenz for each day."

"I'm assuming you're not the scholar," Tucker says to Havoc, who shakes his head and points to me. "You look a little young to be a scholar."

What is this, Phineas and Ferb? "I'm Lorelei Clemens, sir. And I suppose I am. But I promise that, if you accept, I won't be a burden of any kind. In fact, I'd do my best to _lessen_ the stress of the upcoming Assessment Day." And relieve you of your eyes, but I definitely am not going to tell him that.

"Also," Mustang adds, leaning forward in his chair. "If you comply, you'll be granted even more cenz as a starter. In total, everything will equate to a million cenz."

That's like ten thousand dollars, right? Except the value is different, obviously, seeing as it's not the twenty-first century here. Yet I still probably wouldn't let someone live in my house, even for that amount of money.

"And what would you do to relieve the stress, exactly?" Tucker asks me.

Take out your eyes, obviously. "Well, since I have my own military funding," I say, glancing at Mustang to tell him to _give_ me my own military funding. "I would be able to support myself at no cost to you. Except for letting me stay here and look at your research notes. If you're okay with it, I'd also be willing to take your daughter and dog off of your hands so you can work without any possible distractions. And by that, I mean take them around East City, of course with my own money, not yours."

Nina stares up at Tucker with her big, pleading eyes, and I know that he's going to agree, if only because working without distractions would prove to be helpful to his career. "Fuhrer Bradley designed this program?"

Mustang nods and says, "Yes, he did. However, this year is simply a trial, so any feedback you can give about the process will be invaluable." He's a smart guy; calling it a trial can explain all of the flaws in this little experiment.

Tucker puts his elbows on the table and glances down at Nina before replying. "You'll stay here for a week?"

"Yes, sir," I say, knowing that it's better to be too formal than not formal enough.

"Then I'll agree to be a part of the program."

Success! My master plot has, uh, succeeded. Perfect.

"Very well," Mustang says, smiling at him. "Now, Havoc and I will be going to the bank to settle the matter of funding. We'll be back shortly." He stands up, followed by Havoc, and makes his way out of the house.

Once they leave, Tucker turns to me and asks, "So, you're interested in bio-alchemy?"

"Yeah," I say, "though I'm not an alchemist myself. I'm just interested in the field."

Nina crawls off of his lap and sits on the chair next to me. "Do you wanna play?"

Darn those puppy dog eyes of hers. "Sir, do you mind? You can get started on your research."

He shakes his head, saying, "No, I don't mind. Why don't you two – three – go outside? There's a lot less clutter."

"Okay!" Nina jumps up, and so does Alexander, who knocks me off my chair and onto the floor. "Alexander, be nice."

I stand up and glare daggers down at the mangy mutt. "Oh, you _better_ be nice."

The hellhound simply barks at me, prompting me to chase him outside, pretending that I'm a cowboy who's trying to lasso him. This is either gonna be really fun or really exhausting, maybe even both.

One week, Lorelei, keep this up for one week.

* * *

Mustang and Havoc come back around an hour later, right around the time when I'm screaming about how I will exterminate both Alexander and Nina with my death ray. As for how exactly I'll acquire a death ray, I'm working on that.

"You look like you're having fun," Havoc comments, cigarette in his mouth again. "The Colonel will give Tucker his money. But here are the _funds_ you requested, one hundred thousand cenz. They're right here." He hands me a small cross-body purse, which I open to find it's filled with a variety of bills and coins.

Walking back out of the house, Mustang nods at me. "I'll be sending Havoc over here daily to check up on you."

I salute him mockingly and turn back to Nina. "Where were we? Oh yes, I was about to destroy you two." I start to run after Alexander again, ignoring how absolutely _winded_ I am. How any sane person would willingly choose to play with kids or dogs, I do not know. "Come back here!"

Five minutes later, I'm pinned to the ground again, by the demon and his master. "Guys, little miss Lorelei needs to take a break." Nina nods and rolls off me, but Alexander takes a second too long. I glower at him and growl in the most demonic voice I can muster, "Get off of me, you hound!" On second thought, I sound a _lot_ like Gollum. It's only a matter of time until I start to look like him too.

She laughs as he jumps off of me and sprints towards the house, whimpering. "How can you do that voice?"

"Practice, and never drinking enough water," I say, which isn't exactly a lie. "You should drink your water so you'll never end up like me."

When we get inside, Tucker's probably still holed up in his basement, studying. "Make sure to be very, very quiet," I say to both of the devious duo, and they nod in unison. "We don't want to disturb Daddy, do we?"

Nina shakes her head and says, "You can get water from the sink if you want."

I look around at the kitchen and notice the extreme mess everywhere. "Hey, Nina, if you help me with something, I'll take you and Alexander out for ice cream tomorrow." I had planned on doing that anyway, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Sure! What is it?"

I glance to both sides as if to make sure that nobody's watching us before I lean in and whisper, "We're gonna clean the kitchen as a surprise for Daddy." I must be changing a lot, because, if I was at my actual house, no way in hell would I ever clean anything without being forced to do it with a shotgun to my head.

Guess being transported to another universe leaves you an entirely different person. But then again, Amestris has no Wi-Fi, rock music, or anything else that I would be interested in.

And that changes me into Snow White? Bull.

Amestris really is a hellhole, just like Sunnydale.

* * *

Sabrina

"I want to go home," Tristan mutters beneath his breath, and I can't stop myself from nodding in agreement.

Once the novelty of being in a new universe wore off, I began to feel the same way. Following a serial killer around an unfamiliar city in an unfamiliar world isn't that much fun. I know it's very surprising.

"Me too," I say back after a pause. We're sitting in yet another alleyway, and rain is beginning to drizzle, running down the bricks relentlessly. I press myself further against the wall, as if it could provide some sort of cover. "If I could, I would go home."

"Then why don't you?" Scar asks me.

I turn my head to look at him, and see that it's a genuine question, and not deadpan sarcasm. "It's a bit more complicated than just hopping on a train and waiting. It's not like I _want_ to be stuck with a serial killer in an alley. Anyways, why _haven't _you killed anyone here yet?"

"He's waiting for the chaos to die down," Tristan answers for him. "When they stop frantically looking for him, that's when he'll continue going after State Alchemists."

Scar inclines his head slightly as a way of agreement or acknowledgement, I don't know which.

"How many people have you killed so far?"

"Eleven," he replies. "Excluding the last one, all were State Alchemists. The most recent one was the Iron-Blood Alchemist, Basque Grand. All the others weren't as important or as high-up as he was."

Tristan sighs and wipes a raindrop off of his face. "And who're you planning to target now that you're in East City?"

"The first one on my list is Shou Tucker, the Sewing-Life Alchemist. I'll go after him in about one week. That should be enough time."

I hiss in breath through my teeth in recognition of the name. If only I could join him in blowing Tucker's brains out. Only, with my luck, I'd _heal_ the bastard instead of kill him. To distract Scar from my obvious familiarity from that particular State Alchemist, I say, "_Sewing-Life Alchemist_. That's a stupid title."

"No more stupid than the Crushing Geologist Alchemist," Tristan comments.

Who the hell comes up with these names? I bet Bradley does. "You're kidding me. That can't possibly be an _actual_ title."

He shakes his head and says, "I just came up with it; and how about Golden Cyclone or Pebble Network?"

All I manage to do is ask, "_Pebble Network_? What the hell would they do? Levitate pretty rocks and make them into patterns. How's the Botanical Ape Alchemist?"

"Phantasm Mail," he replies, "Raven Execution, or Gleaming Tornado."

Groaning, Scar shakes his head and mutters, "You can't be serious."

"Chilling Watchmaker sounds interesting," I respond, grinning. "Or Infernal Maelstrom could work."

"Imagine having to kill the Magical Fossil Alchemist. I think they'd win. But you'd beat Cosmic Wickedness. I think, at least." By now, Tristan's laughing, ignoring the rain pelting down as he continues, "Piercing Incinerator." What would _they_ do? Go stab-stab boom-boom? I wouldn't want to be around them; that's for sure.

Scar stands up and starts to walk away. "I can't deal with you two right now."

Tristan waves at him and calls, "Don't forget to deal with the Grand Bombardier Alchemist!"

"Or Ethereal Inferno," I add. "He's quite dangerous." He glares at me and keeps walking away until he's out of sight.

"That was… interesting." Tristan says.

"You started it," I say. "So don't go blaming me for making our serial killer friend run off in pure horror."

He smirks and runs a hand through his hair, soaking both the ground and his shirt. "Since when was he our _friend_?" he asks.

I glare at him and say, "Shut up, you little terror."

"Why don't you _make_ me?"

"What are you two doing in this alleyway?"

I turn my head to see a man that I vaguely recognize heading towards up. Only when I realize that he smells like an ashtray do I remember his name. Yup, that's Jean Havoc walking in our direction. And he looks either pissed or annoyed. Either would be a good word to describe him at the moment. Maybe it's because the rain extinguished his cigarette.

Tristan tilts his head to one side and asks, "Is there a problem, officer?"

"_Is_ there a problem I should know about?"

Just like one of my English teachers, always reflecting your questions back to you in a way that makes you feel incredibly stupid.

If the problem he's asking us about is the fact that we're traveling with a serial killer, then yes, there's a problem. "I don't see any problem here, simply two teenagers sitting in an alley."

Havoc asks, "Teenagers? How old are you exactly?"

"Older than your naked grandma," Tristan growls, "what do you think? I'm thirteen and she's sixteen."

He looks at us in confusion. "There's no way you're thirteen."

"You're right. I'm nine hundred and thirty years old. No, it's not _my_ fault I'm a midget who has always looked younger than I am!"

"But it is your fault that you have the temperament of a rabid ferret," I mutter.

"Oh, shut the hell up, you two." Havoc raises his eyebrows, but then glances out of the corner of his eye. "Whoever you are, why don't you come out with your hands in the air?" He starts to pull a gun out, but suddenly freezes when something clicks.

A voice from behind him says, "Drop the gun or you're dead."

Couldn't someone have _tried_ to rob us when we had our little serial killer friend with us instead of an officer?

Havoc slowly puts his gun on the ground, and I can see who it is; the cop from the train, the one channeling the spirit of a dead mob boss.

"What the hell are you doing here, Capone?" I ask, more confused than anything else.

"You know very well what I'm doing here, you punk. And I don't know who you think I am, but my name is _Ritchie_." _Ritchie_'s holding a revolver to the back of Havoc's head, and I'm sure the hammer is cocked back, given the sound it made earlier.

Havoc seems understandably very uncomfortable with the whole situation. "Uh, why exactly are you doing this, Ritchie?"

"These brats are wanted criminals, officer. They're suspected of being accomplices of a serial killer who targets State Alchemists. I suggest you get out of here and forget that you ever came into this alley in the first place." He shifts the gun until it's pointing at me, which is lovely. I've never had a gun pointed directly at my face before.

"As a member of the Amestrian military, I can't step away from this situation. Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put down your weapon and put your hands in the air."

"I _was_ a cop too, before these two caused me to lose my job!" Ritchie waves his gun in the air and I can't keep myself from wondering how well-trained he is. "I bet you're in contact with the others too!"

Tristan stares at him and asks, "Others?"

"They said their names were Leonard Church, Michael Caboose, and Richard Simmons, but they were definitely lying."

Havoc mutters the names under his breath, like he recognizes them or something. "You're the cop, the one who just got fired for police brutality, aren't you? Smashing a civilian's wrist into a table simply because you thought he was a suspect?" Ouch. That must've hurt.

"He _was_ a suspect, and he wasn't even being discreet about lying! In fact he seemed _proud_ of his involvement with a crime boss!" He seems ready to pull the trigger by now.

"You mangled the arm of a _child_, Ritchie. So why don't you put the gun down and walk away from this right now?"

Ritchie shakes his head vigorously and says, "Don't you see? It has to end here and now. And _I _will be the one to end it." He lowers the gun and aims it at Tristan, saying, "Starting with you. Then I'll go back to Dublith to deal with the other three punks. I suggest you get on your knees, officer, right now."

Glancing at the ground, Havoc nods slightly and does as he says.

"Now, you infernal brat, say–"

Multiple gunshots ring out, and it takes me a moment to figure out that _Ritchie_ is the one with various bullet holes. Then I see Havoc holding his gun, the one he had been forced to drop. "What a bastard," he mutters as the body falls to the pavement with a crash. "He shouldn't've ever become a cop." He stands up and asks, "You two alright?"

I get up, making my best _ehh _face. "I guess we're as alright as we could be."

"Now, what was he talking about when he said you were accomplices to a serial killer?" Havoc asks, putting his gun away.

"He saw us on a train, somewhat near a guy he suspected to be a serial killer. Needless to say, we're not travelling with a wanted murderer." Tristan shrugs as he's talking. "He must've been insane or something."

Well, there are _two_ things he isn't lying about. What's this, two truths and a lie? No way is this our first day in middle school, buddy. I'm not going through that kind of hell again.

"So, you're _sure_ you're both okay?"

Along with Tristan, I nod, but I'm the one who says, "We're fine, officer. Thanks for the help."

Havoc sighs and lights up a new cigarette. "Make sure to take care of yourselves." He goes out of the alleyway, leaving us with a dead, shot-up body.

"He's gonna come back with reinforcements, isn't he?" Tristan mutters, turning towards me.

"Definitely," I respond, "the body's still here, right? Which means that he's gotta come back to this place and report what happened. That's probably going to include arresting us, or at least holding us on suspicious charges. We better leave as soon as Scar gets back." I look in where our said serial killer friend went in, and, sure enough, he's there, as if by magic. "Oh, hey, we should go, like right now, before the cops get back."

Scar stares at us in disbelief and shakes his head, stalking towards us. "What the hell happened here?"

Tristan makes an _ehh_ face just like mine and says, "Our buddy from the train decided to have a little _chat_ with us. Unfortunately for him, he attacked a cop, who shot him repeatedly in self-defense. So we better get going now."

"Are – you're actually serious." Scar groans when we don't reply. "What are you waiting for? We have to go, unless you _want_ to be arrested, that is."

I glance at Tristan, who says, "No, I don't particularly want to be interrogated." They start to go out of the alley, and I follow them.

"So," I ask, "what were you up to while we were being held at gunpoint? Going out on a coffee date? With Ritchie's ex-wife, if my suspicions are correct. The dead cop," I clarify. "Apparently he lost his job due to police brutality, which, if anything, is reasonable. I'd say he's a conspiracy theorist at best. Thought we were in cohorts with the people who got him fired."

Tristan rolls his eyes and tugs on the sleeves of his new – stolen, obviously – coat until they're covering both of his hands. He thought it would be best if he didn't go around wearing a bloody officer's jacket, so he had ditched that when we arrived at East City. "You're insane, you know that?"

"Of course I do, but what exactly clued you in?"

"Thinking Scar would ever go out on a date, especially getting _coffee_. He's more the type who blows your brains out and asks questions later." Tristan smirks when he sees the look on Scar's face. "Did I strike a nerve, lover boy?"

Scar glowers at him and growls, "I do advise you to keep your infernal mouth shut before you suddenly don't have one anymore."

"I could say the same to you," Tristan drawls mockingly. "But in a different context."

"What's that sup – _oh_," I whisper, snapping my mouth closed and marching ahead of both of them. "Once you two can act like mature human beings, I'll stop ignoring you." This is going to take a very long time. I wouldn't equate either of them with mature human beings at their best time, let alone now. But I don't mind walking in silence. Near-silence is more accurate. Tristan is snickering under his breath, and I can _hear_ Scar glaring at him in his Scar-like way.

What the hell did I get myself into? Travelling with a serial killer and a midget with a nasty attitude was _not_ what I signed up with.

* * *

Griffin

I stare in disbelief out at the city as I follow Al through it. Nothing here is ringing a bell, which is alarming, to say the least. I had thought that maybe I would've remembered it once I saw more of it, but, so far, that hasn't happened yet.

It's been a grand total of three days since we got off of the train. Ed and Al haven't dragged me into some new adventure yet, and I am disappointed with them. I'd expected that this strange place would practically be a setting for an action movie. Obviously, I was wrong. It seems to me like it's just a boring city, exactly like the ones in Earth.

"Soo, why are we strolling around here for the fourth time?" I ask conversationally, "Because I've practically memorized this entire area."

"Ed has to fill out paperwork about the incident in Liore, and didn't want either of us to bother him."

By that, I'm sure Al means that Ed didn't want _me_ to bother him. Two days ago, he had started on it in the hotel room. I got bored and accidentally ended up activating my weird power and plummeting through the floor to land on top of a random person who happened to be sitting in the lobby at the worst time possible.

That was extremely hard to explain.

"Hey, Al, Grif, wait up!" Lo and behold, Ed's running towards us.

"Ed, you're supposed to be doing paperwork," Al sighs, shaking his head resignedly.

"To hell with paperwork, I'm taking a break. Now, where're we going?" Seeing Al glare down at him, Ed shrugs and keeps walking with his hands in his pockets.

I honestly have no idea where Al's heading towards, so I let the big giant himself speak. "To a market," he says. "I've heard it's a must-see when visiting East City." He stops and turns his head at an alleyway, as if he heard something from it. "Hey, Ed, it's a kitten!"

Sure enough, he's picked up a kitten. Not a fully-grown cat, but a kitten. How can he even _hear_ that well?

Ed shakes his head and says, "Put it back, Al. We can't adopt a pet."

"Brother, I can't just leave it out in the rain!"

I look up at the sky to find that there's not a single cloud out. Nonexistent pants are about to be set on fire.

"Al, it's not even raining!" Ed seems to have come to the same conclusion that I did. "Grif and I will keep walking without you if you don't put it back." Dragging me into their silly feud; what a bastard.

"Fine, then. I'll go find an owner for it, and I'll meet you at the market." Al stalks away from us, holding the kitten in his arms.

"You have no idea how to get there, do you?" I ask.

He frowns and says, "Nope. But we'll figure it out eventually."

When has that phrase _ever_ worked out? I can think of at least three-dozen instances where the speaker meets his gratuitous doom at the hands of a trigger-happy gunman.

This is going to be quite the experience. I'll be able to put it on my résumé.

* * *

Somehow, Ed and I manage to find the market that Al told us about, probably by sacrificing one of our souls in the process.

"This isn't creepy at all," Ed mutters beneath his breath, looking suspiciously around at the rows of booths surrounding us. "Why the hell did Al think it was a good idea to come here?"

I have to agree with him. Everything seems so… _off_, like this is the first scene in a stupid horror movie involving ghosts, demons, crazy psycho killers, the whole shebang. I'm not very inclined to die a gruesome death for the sake of advancing the plot.

"He _did_ say he's never been here," I say, shrugging. "So he probably didn't realize that this part of East City is creeper-town."

"You can say that again." He shakes his head and continues, "Where _is_ Al, anyway?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I turn my head to do a double-take of one booth in particular. It's completely empty, in sharp contrast with the other stalls. Nobody sits behind the counter, and there's not even a sign that anybody ever did. "I suggest we get out of here as soon as we can."

Someone taps on my shoulder, and I flip around to see that it's only Al.

"A little warning next time, please?" I practically shriek, narrowly avoiding jumping three feet in the air. However, I don't hear his reply because my gaze has landed on what is easily the strangest stall in the entire market.

Unless I'm losing my sight, it's _covered_ in lemons, to the point that I can smell them from about twenty feet away. I wander over to it and look over the piles of fruit at the two men behind the counter.

They look like they're identical twins, both with brownish-blonde hair, although one has cut it short while the other hasn't. The long-haired one holds one of the lemons in his hand, and it seems like he's carving it with a pocketknife. The other's sitting there, looking bored; he's the one who looks up at me first.

"I'm assuming you like lemons," he says flatly. In his hands, he's fiddling absentmindedly with a Swiss army knife.

As a matter of fact, I hate lemons with the burning passion of a thousand suns. "Huh?"

He sighs and asks, "Why else would you single out our stall if you didn't like lemons? The name is Leo Lloyd, by the way, and this is my brother, Lukas Leopold." He jerks his thumb toward his companion as he talks.

Lukas Leopold, if that's his real name, hasn't bothered to divert his attention from the lemon he holds. Now that I'm closer, I can see that he _is_ carving it. I glance down at the lemons on the counter, and see that, indeed, they're all engraved. With _faces_; this strikes me as disturbing. I can make out a few animals, but mostly, they're people.

"Okay," I say, backing away slowly, "I'm actually allergic to lemons. Gotta go, sorry, see ya!" I walk as fast as I can back to Ed and growl, "We've gotta get the hell outta here!"

He simply stares at the stall and points at it, so I turn around.

_Crap_.

Al's standing by the booth with a lemon in his gigantic hand and is looking down at it intently; I am pretty sure that it has a cat face carved into it. "You're the entrepreneurs?"

Finally glancing up, Lukas Leopold nods eagerly and says, "Indeed, we are! Obviously, you like cats." He gestures, not at the lemon, but at the kitten that suddenly appeared on Al's shoulder.

Ed stalks over to the booth, hissing, "I thought you were going to find a home for that demon!"

Al puts down the lemon and picks up the kitten. "Nobody could take her."

"So you decide to keep her yourself and not _tell me_?!"

"Well, what was I supposed to do – leave her out in the rain?"

It's not even raining right now, but I don't think the brothers realize that pivotal fact.

Leo Lloyd seems fixated on staring at the cat, to the point where he looks like he's possessed by the cat god of cattiness or something like that. "I can take her," he offers suddenly.

"_Yes_ – wait, what?" Ed swivels around to face him, and so does Al. "Are you serious?"

Lukas Leopold shrugs and says, "As long as we can name her Leonidas, we can take her." He keeps carving that stupid lemon nonchalantly, like he doesn't realize that Leonidas is clearly a guy's name. Wasn't it the guy from the Sparta movie that my history teacher hated? Probably this movie doesn't exist here.

"We'll even let you take a complimentary lemon," Leo Lloyd adds. It's as if he _wants_ all of those lemons to disappear. I'm not putting it past him.

Ed glances at Al, and Al glances at Ed. They seem to come to a general consensus, but Ed's the one who says, "Sure. You can keep your lemons, though. We wouldn't want to deprive you of your source of income."

"Deal," Lukas Leopold and Leo Lloyd say in complete unison. The latter takes the kitten.

As soon as Ed and Al walk back towards me, I turn around and start power-walking the hell out of this market. "Have fun with your cat!" I call over my shoulder. When I _do_ get the hell out of the market, I ask, "Now what?"

"Ed, you probably should check in with the Colonel," Al says.

Ed groans, shaking his head and kicking the corner of a building without putting much thought into it. "Ah. You're probably right, dammit." He starts trudging off in a direction that, to me, seems random, but I hope he knows where he's going. "I bet he can't _wait_ to make fun of me, that bastard."

"Who's the Colonel?" I ask, following him.

"Basically, he's Ed's boss," Al answers for him, "he's–"

"–He's a bastard, like I said."

If Al was able to raise his eyebrows, he most definitely would do that now. He sighs, "Brother, just because you don't like him, it doesn't make him a bastard."

Ed rolls his eyes and heads up a staircase leading to a huge building that looks like the White House on drugs. Don't ask how I know what the White House on drugs looks like. I myself am not quite sure. He reaches the top and goes in, and I keep walking after him until we reach a large, open room.

"Master Sergeant Fuery, how's the radio?" Asks the woman who's sitting at the table in the dead center of the room. All of the people that were here before we arrived are in matching military uniforms. If this turns out to be another cult, I'm going to flip out. And a flipped-out Griffin is not something anybody wants to see.

Tinkering with a clearly broken radio, a man – I assume he's Fuery – stops and sits back. "The receiver on this thing's seen better days." He leans forward again, resuming his work. "I think I'm gonna have to replace it."

Ed simply claps and puts one of his hands on the radio, enveloping it in a bright blue light, which fades, leaving the machine looking brand-new.

"Hey, it's Edward and Alphonse!" Fuery says, looking up at them and smiling, but his grin fades slightly when he sees me. "And… who're you?"

I sigh, "Griffin. Just a random stranger they met on a train. Don't ask."

He pushes his glasses up and stares up at me before shrugging.

The woman doesn't glance up from the paperwork once as she says, "Welcome back, boys. Go on in, the Colonel's expecting you."

As it turns out, this aforementioned Colonel doesn't look like I had pictured him at all. Judging by Ed's description of him, I'd imagined a militaristic Father Cornello, not a young man. "Who's this?" He asks Ed and Al, as if I'm invisible and not sitting squished between them.

I'm about to reply when Ed answers, "A random stranger. His name's Grif." My mouth snaps shut with a _click_ as I glare up at the Colonel, who's apparently known as Roy Mustang. I guess he really is a bastard after all.

"And why is he here?"

"Because I want him here," Ed growls, narrowing his eyes. "Is that all you want to know, or is there more?"

Mustang stares at me suspiciously; finally, he shakes his head. "No, I suppose not. Well done on the Liore case, you… three. Nice work. I appreciate you resolving the matter, although I fail to see how your friend could have helped you in the situation."

I narrow my eyes at him and jump into a standing position, stomping on my inner voice that's telling me to sit the hell down _now_. "Is that so, you arrogant bastard?"

"Get out," he hisses at me, apparently struggling very hard to make his words civil and even.

"I'd like to see you get off your a–"

With that, I find myself kicked out of Mustang's office and into the room I was in earlier. Every person there is staring at me, and I stand up and shrug. "Apparently, the Colonel was in a pissy mood today. Wonder why."

The two men sitting next to Fuery starts snickering uncontrollably; the blonde one snorts, "He must be still pissed off about that Clemens girl."

"You're lucky he didn't burn your eyebrows off," the redhead chimes in, smirking.

"Second Lieutenants Havoc, Breda, focus on work, please." The woman glances up at me, and I can see that she's unamused.

"Can I ask what all of your names are?" I look out at the five of them that're sitting down – the sixth had apparently gone out of the room.

She nods and says, "I'm First Lieutenant Hawkeye, and you already met Master Sergeant Fuery. He's Warrant Officer Falman," she continues, pointing at the man with gray hair who's sitting next to her. "And those two are Second Lieutenants Havoc and Breda." She gestures first towards the blonde, then the redhead.

I wander over to the table and peer over at one of the piles of paper. It seems like it's a stack of information on wanted people; I pick the top three up and flip through them aimlessly. There aren't any pictures, which is maddeningly unhelpful. "Who _are_ these people?"

Falman walks over to me, looking over my shoulder and saying, "I'll tell you. You picked up the three ringleaders of East City's Mafia."

"Oh, he chose the three demons? Nasty bunch," says Breda.

"Since when does this world have _demons_?" I ask skeptically.

Havoc shrugs and says, "Every member of this gang chooses the name of a mythological demon as an alias."

Falman points at the papers, which I haven't even bothered to read. "As of right now, we have no clue on their real identities. Therefore, we've got no pictures of any of them. It's hell to find the members of Inferno, as they call themselves."

"This gang has _three_ leaders, and they haven't killed each other yet?" If I knew I was in a city that was the hideout of a mafia, I'd get the hell out and never look back.

Nodding, Breda answers, "Yeah. They specialize in different areas, though. Mephistopheles technically has the highest rank, and is typically the boss people refer to when they talk about Inferno's boss. According to our sources, she's the coldest bitch to ever set foot in Amestris." Apparently, I must make a confused face, because he continues talking. "Yes, Mephistopheles is female. She keeps her position because she's utterly unafraid to torture and murder anyone who ever gets in her way. People who underestimate her, they never come back in one piece."

Yikes. She _does_ sound like the coldest bitch to ever set foot in Amestris. Remind me never to meet her, _ever_.

"Then there's Lilith, who's the underboss, second only to Mephistopheles. She's the force of the operation. Think of her as Inferno's personal hitman and torturer." Havoc's voice is eerily calm, like he's gotten used to this. "As for how we know Mephistopheles and Lilith are girls," he adds, "people – especially the dying – have a tendency to ramble in their last moments."

It's like a whole _line_ of them; one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.

"And Leviathan remains in the shadows," Falman chimes in. "We don't know if they're male or female, or if they're even one person at all. All we _do_ know is that they're the ideas technician and the information and money gatherer; nothing else."

"That's not terrifying at all," I mutter.

The door to Mustang's office opens, and Ed, Al, and the bastard himself come out. "Come on, Grif," Ed says, waving his hand as he continues walking, "we're going."

I do _not_ want to go anywhere that the Colonel is going, but I don't want to continue talking about East City's mafia either. So I follow them. Once I catch up, I ask, "Where're we headed to?"

"The house of a bio-alchemist, Shou Tucker," Al replies. "Remember the chimera that Cornello transmuted right in front of us?"

Yeah, like I could _forget_ that lion-bird-snake hybrid thingy. "Uh-huh. It scared the hell out of me."

Ed smirks and says, "Tucker's an expert on chimeras. Or, at least that's what the Colonel tells me."

Glaring down at him, Mustang is about to reply when we reach the front door.

I push it open with my shoulder and stand outside, waiting until all three of them have come out before I ask, "What now?"

"We go to our car," Mustang says, heading towards an ancient-looking piece of crap that looks like it's held together by super-glue, tape, and prayer. "His house isn't that far from here."

Somehow, probably due to the fact that I've pissed off some pissy pagan midget dwarf god or something like that, I end up sitting next to the bastard and across from Ed and Al.

The Colonel looks down at a sheet of paper on a clipboard that he's holding as he talks. "Two years ago, Tucker transmuted a chimera that could understand human speech. That earned him his certification as a State Alchemist."

"Understand human speech, you mean – wait, you mean it talks, a chimera?" Ed leans forward in his seat eagerly.

This Tucker dude must be skilled, because the lion-bird-snake hybrid I saw didn't look like it was about to talk anytime soon.

Mustang nods and says, "Right. Supposedly, it only said one thing: I want to die. After that, it refused to eat until it got its wish."

Wait, what? And this guy is regarded as an authority on chimeras, even though he seems no better than Cornello? Bull. "Have you ever met Tucker?" I ask him.

"The first time I actually talked to him was four days ago, and it was only for a brief period of time." He looks out of the window as the car glides to a stop. "Oh look, we're here already," he says in a voice that betrays the fact that he's not surprised at all.

I can tell the place is hella ginormous as soon as I step out of the car, if you can even call it that. Mustang rings the doorbell, or what I _think_ is the doorbell.

"Man, this house is huge!" Ed says, seconds before I hear a howl and his screech of terror.

I turn around and see that a fricking _mammoth_ of a dog is sitting on top of him. All I do is laugh uncontrollably, but Al kneels down by him and asks, "You okay, Ed?"

"I shall _vanquish _you, you veritable _hellhound_!" At the front door, for some screwed-up reason, is Lorelei, holding a fencing sword. She looks at me, and then at Ed and Al. "Hey there, I guess we meet again…"

Ed practically shrieks, "_Lorelei_? What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Brother, be nice," Al sighs, shaking his head.

She lowers the sword and rolls her eyes, and that's when I see a young girl peering around her legs. "Nina," Lorelei says, "Can you go–"

"–Tell Daddy that there are people here." The girl – apparently, Nina – nods and walks back in the house. Soon after, she reappears with an older man who looks down at the scene in clear amusement.

"Alexander, you know you're not supposed to jump on people," he says; the dog reluctantly gets off of Ed and shakes itself vigorously. "Oh, it's you again, Colonel. Why don't you all come inside?" He opens the door wider and leads us through it and into a dining room.

I purposefully bump into Lorelei and mutter, "Okay, we _really_ need to talk."

She nods and drags me outside again, right next to where the little girl and the dog are sitting under a tree. "How the hell did you get here, Griffin? And why the hell are you traveling with the _Elrics_ of all people?"

Groaning, I sit down next to the girl and lean against the tree, ignoring the branch stabbing me in the shoulder blade. "It's a long story."

Lorelei shrugs and replies, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Who're you?" Nina asks me curiously.

"Uh, my name's Grif. Who're you?"

"I'm Nina and this is Alexander." She points at the dog, who barks at me. "What're you talking about?"

I glance at Lorelei; she says, "We're writing a play, and we're just brainstorming." Wonder why she didn't say movie or TV show, huh. Must be something weird about this world; not having either of those. Nina tilts her head to the right and then turns her attention back to Alexander, leaving the two of us free to talk.

Dammit. How the _hell_ am I supposed to explain all of this without sounding like a complete and utter lunatic?

* * *

Lorelei

If I still was on Earth, I'd be convinced that Griffin is a complete and utter lunatic. But I'm not, so I have no choice but to believe him. Hell, my story is even crazier than his. But, weirdly, they both line up in a way that might actually make a sliver of sense.

If you consider _sense_ as being transported into an alternate dimension by a bastard with a bad attitude, that is.

"This is… complicated," Griffin mutters beneath his breath, tapping his foot on the ground. "I can honestly say I didn't see it coming."

"You can say that again."

"I can honestly say I didn't see it coming," he repeats in a deadpan voice, rolling his eyes.

He would most definitely say that again if I had actually told him that we're in a _fictional_ world, and that I know _everything_ that's going to happen here. Like fricking _hell_ I'm going to tell him that. Probably already thinks I'm a psycho – when in reality, I'm a high-functioning sociopath – and I'm not gonna make him think I'm a lunatic too.

"Anyways, what're they still doing inside?" He asks, looking over at the house.

I shrug and say, "My guess is research on bio-alchemy."

Griffin raises his eyebrows and stands up. "Time to crash their boring party," he says. "Want to join?"

"Is the grass green on good days?" I glance down at Nina and Alexander and ask, "Do you two want to raise a little hell?"

Alexander immediately stands up, shaking off his flower crown and giving an utterly demonic bark. She stands up too. And, like a screwed-up quartet, we head inside.

I don't see Tucker anywhere, since he's probably holed up in his lab, and Mustang's already left.

Once I lead them to the library, I glower up at the bookshelves that fill the room. You'd think that at least _one_ of them wouldn't be about alchemy, but _no_… Tucker sure is a boring bastard, that's for sure.

Not even bothering with the subtle approach, Griffin and Alexander charge right in. But I lean down to Nina and whisper, "Wanna pretend to be pirates?"

She grins up at me and nods vigorously.

"Who do we want to attack first?"

"Hmmm… The big one," she says.

I pull out the sword that I bought due to sheer boredom and lack of sleep. It's able to fold into itself, so I usually keep it in my pocket – obviously, when it _is_ folded.

Nina takes out her weapon of choice – a slingshot, perfect for shooting pebbles at the back of your enemy's head. She peers out from behind one of the bookshelves and says, "He's reading. Grif and Alexander are fighting the shorter one."

Guess I have rubbed off on her in the four days I've been staying here. That's terrifying.

Shifting a book over so I can peer through the gap, I see that Alphonse is standing up on the other side, reading a book and not paying any attention to his surroundings. I let a manic grin appear on my face, and shove my sword through the opening, knocking off his head, sending it clattering to the floor.

Headless, he stumbles around until he trips on his helmet and crashes to the ground. He picks up his head and puts it back on. "Hey, that's no fair!"

"Fair? You expect _me_ to be fair? That's quite a mistake; up on your feet, you ruffian!" I stroll over to him and shake my head dramatically. "Trust me, you need a break. And it happens to come in the form of a temperamental teenage girl," I say, dropping my overdramatic persona for a moment.

For a moment, everything is silent, like the calm before a storm. I know that sound. Dammit. I sidestep, barely avoiding being smashed into the carpet by Alexander, who sails over my head and crashes into Alphonse.

Griffin's chasing after the hellhound with energy only Griffin could possess. He flings himself on top of the dog – and therefore on the suit of armor as well – with a battle cry consisting mostly of unrepeatable swears. And, since it's _me_ saying that his swears are unrepeatable, believe it. But Jason – he'd consider Griffin's vocabulary to be child's play.

I'll never understand how I'm friends – acquaintances, really – with such _weird_, screwed-up people.

Edward just stands there staring at the Alphonse, Alexander, and Griffin when he walks over to see what all the noise is about.

"Can you two get _off_ me?" Alphonse groans, his face pressed into the ground, and they do. He stands up again and brushes imaginary dirt off of himself. "Thanks. Anyways, what was all that for?"

"Boredom," Griffin answers simply, shrugging loosely. "That's pretty much it."

The demon dog turns his head to face Edward, and I automatically know what'll happen. He gives a howl and launches himself at the Fullmetal midget, sending the both of them smashing to the floor with a _bang_.

I sidle up to Alphonse and push him into the fray, but he grabs onto my arm at the last second and drags me down with him. And Nina shoves Griffin on top of me – well, the pile, really; it's mainly because I'm at the top – and then decides to jump on top of _him_.

"_Get off of me, you mangy mutt!_" Edward screams, and Alexander mainly pants happily, even though he's nearly at the bottom.

"Whose foot is in my face?" Alphonse asks.

I tilt my foot forward and hear it hit metal, so I say, "Uh, I think it's mine. Sorry."

"I can't see a goddamn thing," growls Griffin, his elbow digging into my side. Nina simply starts laughing, probably because she's not getting slowly crushed by numerous people and one dog.

Of course, that's when I hear the library door open with a _squeak _that tells me it really needs to be oiled.

"Hey, Chief, your ride has arrived," Havoc says, pausing before he asks, "what're you guys up to down there?"

"Trying to get Ed to remember that he's a midget," Griffin answers.

With that, Edward shoves himself into a standing position, causing everyone to go flying across the room. He looks positively demonic in his rage. "Who're you calling a pipsqueak so tiny that he can't even be seen under a microscope?!"

"You," I say, pushing myself up against the wall until I'm standing, "hard of hearing as well as a runt?"

"After all that, you must be dog tired," says Tucker. When he realizes that it's a dad joke – even a bastard evil screwed-up dad joke – he laughs into his hand. "Why don't you come on back tomorrow?"

Holy _hell_, that means tomorrow is _the_ night, the D-Day itself. And, so far, my plan is sketchy at best, shoddy at worst.

Nina looks up at Alphonse excitedly and asks, "You're really going to come again?"

He waves at her and nods. "We'll play some more tomorrow, okay, Nina?"

"Okay!"

Tucker leads all of us out to the front doorway, but he, Nina, Alexander, and I stay inside while Havoc, Edward, Griffin, and Alphonse trudge out.

Havoc stops and turns around, saying, "Oh, Mr. Tucker, I almost forgot. I've got a message for you; it's from the Colonel. He says 'Don't forget, Assessment Day is coming soon.'"

"Yes, please assure him I know."

"Right," he says, nodding and resuming his walking until he catches up with the others.

Tucker shuts the doors and goes straight into his laboratory without looking back.

Nina stares up at me with her huge, unblinking eyes. "What does Assessment Day mean?" She asks.

Hmm, how to explain this in a way that would make sense to a four-year-old? "Every year, all State Alchemists have to turn in their research to keep their job. That's why he always studies so much."

"I'm sure Daddy will do great! He always does."

"Yeah, I know he'll do great too." _With his eyes gouged out with a Spork_, I don't add. No need to traumatize this poor girl. I may be an eye-gouger, but I'm not the type to traumatize little girls who're already traumatized. "Hey, Nina," I say, having been struck with an idea. "Would you be interested in going to the zoo tomorrow? We can get back in time to see the boys." It's a blatant lie, but I'm a blatant liar, so that's that. "Alexander could come too."

She thinks over it for a second, and then asks, "Daddy's okay with it?"

I don't give a flying cornbread what Shou Tucker thinks. "I'll ask him in the morning. He's busy studying now. Okay?"

Nina nods emphatically and turns to her lovely hellhound. "Alexander, did you hear? We get to go to the zoo tomorrow!" He barks in acknowledgement.

Sometime later, I end up back in my room. I close and lock the door behind me, and then look for a pad of paper and a pen, which I find on the windowsill. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I uncap the pen and rest the pad against my leg. It's probably best to write a note and not just disappear into thin air.

_Griffin,_

_You're probably – fine, __definitely__ – wondering why I'm gone, along with Alexander and Nina._

_It's pivotal that you know the truth about Shou Tucker. He may seem nice and docile, if a bit too concerned with maintaining his State Alchemist position. But, in actuality, he's a madman and a psychopath. Two years ago, he combined his wife with a dog to create the first talking chimera._

_He's planning on doing it again to pass this year's Assessment Day, but this time using Nina and Alexander. Don't ask how I know this; it's not important at the moment._

_Because of this, I'm taking them and getting the hell away from him. Hopefully, by the time you read this, we'll be in Central._

_Do __not__ trust this son of a bitch, and do __not__, at any time, let yourself – or anyone else – be alone with him. Alert Second Lieutenant Havoc about this the very second you see him. And, Griffin, don't you fricking __dare__ to try to confront him by yourself. This bastard is willing to transform his own daughter into an __animal__. Just think of what he would do to you._

_Lorelei_

I recap the pen and put it on the little nightstand next to my bed. Now, where to put the note in a place that only Griffin would think to find it? In my pillowcase is probably the best option, so that's where I put it.

It's tomorrow; there's just one more day until I stop feeling like fricking Annie.

Already, I can tell that I'm going to get no sleep at all tonight. I won't even bother trying.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Title_: Escape is a song by 30 Seconds to Mars, and the lyrics at the start of the chapter are from it.

_Leo and Lukas_: Basically, these two guys are based off of lilaclily00, from her story "LemoNeko". In it, there's Ed, Al, an entrepreneur, lemons, and cats. Read it. Just read it.

Thanks to An Arm and a Leg for being my beta! (And I will now use my nonexistent powers of persuasion to convince you to read her story, because I'm _her _beta. It's like the betaing Circle of Life, or something along that nature. But seriously, just read her story, to make me happy?)

The next update is two Sundays from now, in case you were wondering.

And thanks to everyone who reads and reviews!


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